


I lost my head but I found the ones I love

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (I THINK IT QUALIFIES the fluff isn't the usual tooth-rotting variety tho), (YES BOTH TAGS APPLY BELIEVE ME), (he's barely in this fic but idc he is), (sorta) - Freeform, Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Book 2: A Clash of Kings, Developing Friendships, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, I Don't Even Know, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Jon Snow Knows Something, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, Robb Stark is a Gift, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Night's Watch, Threesome - F/M/M, Ygritte Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14224416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Theon does, in fact, go to the Wall.Itdoeschange things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agiaoftyrosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agiaoftyrosh/gifts).



> ... good lord, this is so belated I can't even.
> 
> NO, THEONEXCHANGE ISN'T DOING A NEW ROUND YET it's just that last round STUFF happened (ie: people dropped out and I wasn't notified until it was too late and then I got unlucky with pinch-hitting) and the poor soul I'm gifting this too ended up without a gift and didn't even want fanfic, but since I couldn't find a pinch hitter at that point I asked her for some prompts so I could do it myself.
> 
> This started as (sorry i can't find the original right now), _Theon goes to the Wall and he and Jon end up bonding, either gen or not_. IT TURNED OUT INTO HEY LET'S DO A FIX-IT and throw Ygritte in there too because why the hell not Theon totally would like her (with previous authorization of course) and then I ended up being either busy af or with other obligations and it took me THIS FUCKING LONG but I'm finally done and man I'm so, _so_ sorry it took me so much I swear next year it's Not Happening Period and I just hope it was worth the wait. Have the threesome of doom plus as much people from the Wall as I could possibly fit.
> 
> Also: obviously everyone belongs to GRRM, the title is from mumford & sons and I own nothing except the variations on the plot. Haha I wish. Have fun. And again I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG :(

 

I

 

The Wall is cold, and _that_ had been something Theon expected. He’d have been a complete fucking idiot _not_ to expect it.

He had also expected the people to not be particularly welcoming, and he also had expected Jon Snow to murder him on sight the moment he showed up without even letting him take his bloody vows, regardless of what Ser Rodrik’s raven said – that is, if he sent it in the first place when Theon negotiated his surrender, but the man _is_ honorable to a fault, same as his lord used to be, and Theon hadn’t doubted _that_ as he rode to his inevitable life sentence. Oh, and he had expected to go through some kind of trial – it’s not as if he ever paid attention to the Night’s Watch recruitment practices because he never thought he actually _would_ need nor want to join, but he was somewhat sure that people didn’t just march inside Castle Black and swore their vows.

Turns out that he was wildly wrong on about most of his expectations, because the Wall is, _in fact_ , fucking cold, and given that he never quite got adjusted to _Winterfell_ ’s climate he’s not relishing the years he’ll need to spend someplace where it’s _worse_ than that all the time, but that’s about everything that he actually had guessed.

First thing, Jon Snow is _not_ , in fact, even on the premises. Jon Snow, he’s told, has joined a group of rangers headed on an expedition beyond the Wall, and when he’s told _why_ he spares a thought for that poor bastard whose head he kicked just before Robert Baratheon and his bloody court walked into Winterfell.

Because if Theon had ran into _the bloody Others_ himself, he’d have deserted the shit out of the Watch, except that now he’s actually _joining voluntarily_ and isn’t that just goddamned ironic?

Never mind. He made his bed, he’s going to lie in it.

So, Jon Snow is not on the premises, which is a fairly good thing since it means his head stays on his shoulders for sure. At that point, Theon just hopes that however long his _training_ is, it’ll end before Jon comes back, so he won’t have any excuses to rightfully want his head, and patience if he actually never killed Bran and Rickon – it’s not as if Jon’s opinion of him ever was _that_ high in the first place, and it’s not as if Theon hasn’t about fucked Robb over anyway.

Right.

He’s _not_ going to think about Robb, not _now_ , not until he’s sure that at least his life will be spared.

Except that it turns out that there’s _no training_.

Or better: there _should_ be, but apparently since the Lord Commander, most of the men and _just about everyone_ except the maester and the smith are either beyond the Wall or at Eastwatch, there’s no one to even oversee training. The moment Theon shows up, some of the few recruits that were left bring him to the smith – Donal Noye, he says – who takes an exceedingly good look at him, his eyes not betraying the slightest hint of approval or disapproval or _whatever_.

“Theon Greyjoy,” he says. “Yes, we _did_ get word of your stint at Winterfell. I imagine _that_ is why you wish to join us?”

Theon figures there’s no bloody point in lying. “I lost. It was either that or waiting for R – for the King in the North to take my head.” If Noye notices his slip, he doesn’t show. “And I’d rather have a chance here than _die_.”

“Well,” Noye says, “this is the _Night’s Watch_ and it’s not as if we can refuse recruits. Especially if they’re like _you_.”

“… Wait, _what_?”

Noye snorts, but it’s not very amused.

It’s more _resigned_.

“ _Lord Greyjoy_ , have you taken a look around? Most people here had to be taught from scratch when it came to using a weapon, the master at arms is currently at Eastwatch training what recruits we’ve got over there, most of the men who can fight are ranging with the Lord Commander and we already had barely enough people to man _three_ castles on twenty. You’re young, you’re _trained_ already, if you had the same teacher as Jon Snow you can use a sword and at least a couple other weapons if you have to –”

“Truth to be told, I’m better with a bow than –”

“ _Who cares_ , as long as you can be useful in battle. Anyway, I was saying, you’re young, you can fight, and as things are, the Lord Commander is beyond the Wall, _no one_ is technically in charge – maybe Marsh, but he’s not in charge of the recruits – and we couldn’t be picky before, sure as the seven hells we can’t be picky now. Sure, you can’t take your vows until the Lord Commander’s back, but never mind it. Come with.”

“Where – where to?”

“You should meet at least Marsh and the Maester, there’s a limit to breachin’ fucking protocol. Then we can see to find you some proper garb and whatever else, and then I’ll get someone to show you around.”

“That’s – that’s it?” Theon can’t bloody believe it. It’s _entirely too easy_ , but –

“I told you,” Noye says wearily, “we are _that_ desperate and given where you come from, you should know. Anyhow, we should see Marsh. Follow me.”

Theon does, figuring that it’d be no point to argue, and if it means he doesn’t have to stand through however long of training with commoners who can’t hold a sword, well, fine with him. He didn’t come here to slouch around, after all. If he failed in Winterfell, he _won’t_ fail here, that’s for bloody sure.

\--

Bowen Marsh, the castellan, has apparently worse problems to worry about, namely that it seems that King’s Landing is ignoring all the ravens he sends. He takes a look at Theon, tells Noye to bring him to Maester Aemon already and get one of the recruits to show him around whenever they’re done and goes back to checking his records.

Theon is about to ask whether everyone is always so cheery around here and then thinks twice of it.

\--

The maester, Theon notices at once as he walks inside his room, is _old_. He hadn’t thought they wouldn’t have anyone younger, and the moment he turns in their direction Theon notices that he’s blind on top of that. _What in the seven hells they do with a blind maester?_

“Donal, you can leave us,” the old man says, his voice sure and steady. “And you can move forward, young man. Or should I say, _Lord Greyjoy_?”

“… I imagine the men who came with me already informed you, Maester –”

“Aemon,” the maester replies. “And yes, they did.”

“No doubt to say you should turn me away.”

“Mostly about warning me that you would not likely be a good addition to our ranks, given your past deeds. However, the Watch has never turned anyone away and no one will start now, especially since, as you’ve seen, we do not have such a luxury.”

“As in, turning people away?”

“Indeed, young man, indeed. Now, keeping in mind that no one is going to refuse recruits, especially when they’re young, healthy and can fight, let me just ask you a few questions.”

Theon, who would _not_ have bothered to keep his temper from Luwin, keeps his mouth shut because he has a feeling that he shouldn’t fuck up this specific conversation, never mind that this man is older than Luwin and exudes a certain aura to himself that almost makes him feel intimidated.

“Why did you come? Just to save your own life? Don’t worry if it’s the truth, there is no right or wrong way you can answer this question.”

Theon looks straight at him, even if the old man can’t stare back.

“No. Well, I _did_ , because I wanted to live, but – I took Winterfell because I wanted to prove myself. And I can prove myself here, too.”

He says nothing else, but the maester hums in agreement. “Well, you _do_ have a temper. And at least it seems like you actually want to be useful. And whatever reasons you have for it, it’s more than I could have hoped for, I fear. You can go.”

“That’s – that’s it?” Theon asks, and then bites down his tongue. “I mean, uh, Maester –”

The old man laughs. “That’s it. I told you, even if I _didn’t_ like your motivations I wouldn’t have turned you away regardless.”

Theon has a feeling that the old man might have reached _different_ conclusions than his own, and possibly a lot more than Theon would have deduced from such a conversation, but never mind that. If he’s cleared, then he’ll leave and find out what he’s supposed to do. He excuses himself and then leaves the room, where Noye is waiting for him.

“I guess everything is within the norm,” Noye says. “Well then. Come along, we have no time to lose.”

\--

They go back to Marsh’s room, where Noye asks for a list of available beds – Marsh tells him, Noye seems to think about it and then nods before walking back out of the room; Theon follows him without even trying to ask what is this all about, because he has a feeling these people have no time to waste answering dumb questions nor to hear any objection he might have to _anything_ , and if he starts making enemies – no.

He _really_ doesn’t need to start with the wrong foot, not when –

Not when he basically fucked up _everything else_ , hasn’t he?

He follows Noye for a hell of a long time until they arrive in what looks like the longest hallway Theon’s ever seen, and they stop in front of a door. Noye opens it, pushing against it with his sword because it doesn’t give at once, and then he takes one of the lightened torches from the nearby wall and hands it to him.

Theon uses it to light a small oil lamp in the corner next to him and sees that his new accommodations are fairly small, have one bed and one small table in the corner and a similarly small wardrobe in the corner.

“I’ll have someone bring you clothes in a bit,” Noye tells him. “Welcome to the Night’s Watch, _my lord_. I doubt you’ll enjoy your stay, but these days no one quite does.”

Theon nods at him as if he leaves and closes the door behind him – it screeches.

He wonders how long has it been since anyone slept here.

He’s not even sure he wants to know.

He sighs, sitting down on the bed – it’s less hard than he had imagined it’d be, _good thing that_ at least – and puts his head in between his hands.

He doesn’t know how in the seven hells he should feel about this entire situation – probably he should be happier than he is because at least he’s going to avoid _training_ and he’s not going to have to face Jon right now, which he honestly is _very_ relieved about. The fucking last thing he needed was Jon Snow _right now_.

Still –

He hadn’t even imagined that they’d be _this_ bad off. He doesn’t even know how he plans on _rising high_ in this damned place when they barely even have enough men to defend _three_ castles on twenty. He’s going to probably die of frostbite before he even swears his vows, he realizes as he shivers – fuck, it’s _cold_.

He stands up and uses the torch to bring up a fire in the small fireplace in the corner, hopefully it’s going to make the situation _somewhat_ better. He also would like to know what the hell he’s supposed to do or how long is he supposed to wait, especially because his clothes haven’t been changed since he surrendered and left Winterfell with his escort, and he feels like he’s never needed a bath so much in his entire damned life, but he has a feeling he won’t get one anytime soon.

Shit.

Now he’s stuck here, most likely Robb wants his head and he’d be right – honestly, he’s had time to think about _everything_ he got fucking wrong since he sailed from Seagard while riding to the Wall surrounded by men who weren’t killing him only out of respect for Ser Rodrik and because Ned Stark wouldn’t have wanted them to when he had been granted leave to take the black, and he’d really be surprised if Robb _didn’t_ want it.

On top of that, he _definitely_ is losing his rights to Asha and he doesn’t even want to know what his father will think of him after he learns of where he has ended up, but he has a feeling that he most likely will forget about his existence, if what Asha said about how much _no one_ appreciated his stint was true.

He has a feeling _it was_.

He’s about to punch the wall in frustration if only because admitting to himself that he got everything _completely fucking wrong_ is too much right now and the last thing he wants to do is think about _what_ he actually did to hold the damned castle –

Someone knocks on the door.

Theon hasn’t ever been happier to hear anyone knocking on his door in his entire life, or so it feels right now. He goes to open it at once, trying to not shiver from the cold too obviously and most likely failing at it, and he finds himself in front of a kid who has to be around Robb and Jon’s age, a bit shorter than Theon is, all dressed in black, with dark hair and large ears and the face of someone who’s thankful to have something to distract him from boredom.

Well, at least that.

“So,” he says, “you’re the new one, yes?” For _some_ reason, he doesn’t sound like he hates Theon’s guts on principle.

“Yes,” Theon replies cautiously. “Did Noye tell you –”

“ _Jon_ told me, actually.”

“Wait, what?”

“ _Theon_ , right? Good with a bow, kind of an ass, brags about how many women he’s been with too much for his tastes? He _did_ talk about you a few times. Same as everyone else in Winterfell.”

… well, so the kid is Jon’s friend. Great. He’s _absolutely_ going to have a great time, isn’t he?

“I imagine you know why I’m here,” Theon says cautiously.

Pyp shrugs. “We do. The guards who came with you made sure everyone knew. That said, you _are_ aware of where you are, right?”

“I _am_?”

Pyp shrugs again. “Well, then since _everyone_ is allowed a second chance here and if I had to judge anyone who comes here for what they did before, we’d have even less people, I’m not judging you, yet.”

He pushes a _heavy_ stack of clothes into Theon’s arms without ceremonies – hells, _how much_ does this uniform fucking weight? – and takes a step back.

“Put those on before you die freezing, I’m going to wait here and I’ll show you around.”

Theon is tempted to just move back and close the door, but –

Does he _really_ want to alienate someone who’s been here for a while, is _Jon’s friend_ and isn’t judging him already for all the reasons why he’s here?

 _Probably not_. “Thanks,” he says, shrugging, and then closes the door before he _really_ does freeze thanks to the cold coming in from the hallway – Pyp _does_ have a fairly heavy cloak on him, and there’s one at the bottom of his pile. Good. He moves quickly towards the fire, figuring that he’ll find some other way to wash later, he gets rid of his clothes and quickly puts on the black garb he’s been given, which is way heavier than what he was wearing in the first place, puts his shoes back on and for last he dons the cloak.

Right. He’s definitely warmer now, and the clothes pretty much fit him. He doubts that he’ll ever ask where do they come from, he could bet that they belong to some dead man, but never mind _that_. They don’t anymore, he supposes, and he’ll try to not follow in the previous owner’s footsteps.

He sighs deeply and then opens the door – Pyp is indeed standing outside, still, and at least it doesn’t look like he’s bored out of his mind.

He takes a good look at Theon before nodding once. “Right, at least I didn’t get the wrong size. Well then, Donal Noye said that you should start going about your duties without training, never mind that there’s _no one_ to do it right now. Then again, if you _held a castle_ for that long you probably don’t need it.”

 _At least that_.

“Anyway, as you probably guessed these are the barracks for the latest recruits. The older you are, the higher your room is, but as you know half of us is beyond the Wall right now, so it’s not exactly lively. Never mind that. You’re in charge of cleaning and changing your bedsheets and so on, if you need clean things you can go ask Marsh. Every night there are rounds, you go up on the Wall and check that no one’s coming and if there is you’re supposed to warn everyone, but they’re set for the next three days or so, you won’t go on one until then. Someone’ll warn you. Now, just follow me out.”

Theon does, and they walk downstairs and out until they’re in the back in the training yard.

“So,” Pyp says, “that’s where _training_ happens. Obviously, it’s not happening _for you_ but if you want to practice or whatever, unless you have different duties no one’s going to stop you. Just be thankful you’re being spared Ser Thorne,” Pyp sighs.

“Ser _who_?”

“The master at arms, he’s in Eastwatch now. Good thing for everyone, honestly. Anyway, the only other place you should worry about now is the mess hall, come.”

Theon does, and they arrive there fast enough. It’s empty now, rows and rows of wooden benches, and it’s _cold_ , but then again it’s mid-afternoon, he figures that it’s too early to eat.

“There’s where we eat. Thrice per day, if nothing happens, of course. There are shifts to clean up after we’re done, but again, you won’t get fit in for a couple of days at most. Just do your job and you’ll be fine.”

Theon is _not_ going to relish it, but he highly doubts he can afford to scorn _those_ specific duties, especially when he doesn’t want everyone to hate him when he comes from _months_ of being surrounded by people who either did or thought him incapable of accomplishing anything, and he’s had enough time to think about it to _know_ that it indeed happened and there’s nothing he can tell himself to make the situation look that much better.

“Sounds easy enough,” he says, forcing to sound halfway cheerful. “That’s it?”

Pyp gives him a shrug. “For now? Yes. There’s no training to be had unless you want to, everyone is worried sick about how the others are faring beyond the Wall, we’re just hoping that we don’t get attacked by wildlings when half of our forces are the gods know where and we haven’t gotten a raven with good news in months. I think _that’s it_.”

… Fair point, Theon has to admit.

“All – all right. Uhm, I suppose that you can’t show me where I should take the _night rounds_ , can you?”

“Well, there’s also day rounds, but you might as well have a look,” Pyp says. “I mean, it’s probably better that you do it now than when it’s _dark_. Come over.”

They reach a small lift; Pyp exchanges a few words with the other crow manning it and then they step inside it.

Not long later, they step out of it and Theon, for a few seconds, _can’t_ think about how and why he’s here, because he’s standing on top of the Wall and he’s seeing the expanse of forest and snow in front of him. The sunlight is making the bricks he’s standing over so white it almost hurts to look at them, but for a moment he can see why Old Nan kept on saying the place was brimming with magic from the Old Gods.

“Quite _something_ , isn’t it?” Pyp tells him.

“… Yes,” he admits, not finding any better way to put it.

“Well, the _rounds_ consist in walking along these ramparts with someone else and occasionally going the other way while you keep an eye on what’s on the other side. If you see anything, you blow that horn.”

… It could be worse, he decides.

“Sounds easy enough,” Theon says. “That’s _really_ all?”

“It is. I guess you expected worse?” He sounds _amused_ , out of everything.

Theon shrugs. No point in lying, right? “Plenty,” he admits. He considers adding that he thought Jon would be here and wouldn’t appreciate his presence, but he shuts up about it.

Pyp still _stares_ at him, and then he huffs, shaking his head.

“Do I have to call you _my lord,_ at least until you take your vows?”

Theon _might_ have fancied himself a lot of things up until he realized that it was the black or dying friendless and abandoned. He _knows_ that the moment he takes his vows he won’t be able to fancy himself anything bar a crow.

And again, he _doesn’t_ want to ruin his chances here, too. That conversation with Maester Aemon has given him enough to think about, on top of that.

“No,” he replies. “It’s not as if I’m going to be one much longer.”

Pyp smiles ever so slightly – Theon has a feeling he passed the test.

“Then, _Theon_ , I’m sure you won’t do too bad. That’s a better attitude than our common friend had.”

“What – Snow and I never were _friends_.”

“Whatever it is that you were, he _did_ think he was better than everyone else, the first few days. Then he came around. If you don’t have to do that, I’m sure you won’t find the company too awful.”

Well, Theon says, at least he _did_ get one thing right at first try. It’s not much of a consolation, but it’s a start.

\--

That night, he sleeps halfway decently for the first time since – since he can’t remember, but he thinks that’s because he was freezing and exhausted and just about ready to pass out. The next day he insists to be sent on a patrol on the ramparts during the day just to show that he’s not here to laze around and he’s paired with some ranger from the Stormlands who barely acknowledges him for the entirety of their time together. He spends a few hours in the yard shooting a target out of frustration with a few people staring at him as if they can’t quite understand _how_ he’s hitting it in the center every damned time, but they don’t ask questions and he doesn’t try to talk to them. For a first day, it could have been worse.

The evening, he sits next to Pyp at dinner because there’s literally no one else around who has a free place nearby and looks even remotely welcoming and at least he _knows_ the man’s name.

“Oh, how did your first day go?” Pyp asks.

“Fine enough,” Theon shrugs. “Could’ve been worse. I imagine most northerners around here want me dead, don’t they?”

“Some of the ones I’m talking to aren’t too happy, but all the others are too worried about when the Lord Commander’s going to be back. Anyway, you’re cleaning tomorrow evening – you’re with me. The day after tomorrow we have night rounds, too.”

Theon doesn’t ask him if he asked Marsh to pair the both of them on purpose – a part of him is scorning the fact that he’s feeling pathetic because a commoner kid who’s _friends with Jon_ is trying to ease his way in, another is feeling thankful that _someone_ is trying to ease his way in at all.

 _What would my father think of me, mingling with commoners_ , and then he realizes that his father’s opinion of him couldn’t have become any fucking worse already, and so what does he fucking care? He’s _plenty_ enjoyed the company of female commoners, after all, and the moment he takes his vows he won’t be a lord anymore as far as the realm’s concerned, so –

So _what does he fucking care_?

“All right,” he says. “Do I have, uh, day rounds as well?”

“Not until a couple days after, I think. By the way, a lot of northerners don’t appreciate your presence here, but a few of the last recruits were kind of impressed.”

“ _Impressed_?”

“Apparently, no one in here can shoot arrows quite like you do, _my lord.”_

There was _nothing_ deferential in the way Pyp said it.

For a moment, it sounds _strange_ , but never mind that. He’ll have to get used to it.

He sighs. “I suppose that if any of them want a few tips I’ll be in the yard in the morning.”

Pyp nods at him approvingly. “Excellent. They’ll be there. Hells, _I_ ’ll be there, probably, given that I don’t have anything pressing to do. Gods, who’d have thought I’d have missed bloody Chett.”

“ _Who_?”

“Never mind. Someone I didn’t particularly like and who hates me on account of being friends with someone he hates even more, and Jon, too. But at least when they all were here it wasn’t so bloody boring.”

“… What does Jon have to do with this? If I can ask.” It’s not even that he _cares_ , but – no, all right, he sort of wants to know what kind of man Snow is being _here_. Is he the same brooding jealous little arse he used to be in Winterfell? He doesn’t voice that question because if Pyp is his _friend_ maybe insulting Jon to his face wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Well,” Pyp says, “I guess there’s no point in _not_ telling you. Chett was Maester Aemon’s old steward, but then he got demoted because the old man took on Sam instead. Sam’s my friend, but he was Jon’s friend first, and it was Jon’s idea that he’d do it since he can read and likes all his fancy books and he’s kind of terrible at fighting. Chett took it very badly.”

Theon would like to say he _hadn’t_ expected it.

Instead, that sounds _just_ like bloody Jon Snow.

“But this _Sam_ isn’t here now?”

“Nah,” Pyp sighs, “went beyond the Wall, too, ‘cause he’s one of the few people who actually knows shit about dragonglass and the likes. That is, what kills the Others. By the way, that’s why the tower’s burned down.”

“ _What_? The _Others_?”

“Two of us, yes. Came back to life right there and almost killed the Lord Commander. Jon stopped them, fire kills them, but it also brought the entire thing down.”

So, Snow’s been here for not even a year and he’s championing lost causes, saving Lord Commanders, killing wights and making a name for himself.

Of course he is. Never mind it – why did he even doubt he _would_? The little brooding bastard was stubborn and he did leave with making a name for himself in mind, of course he wouldn’t stand here doing nothing.

“Just out of curiosity, let’s just say these Others show up _now_ when apparently everyone included the man in charge _isn’t_ here, what are the plans?”

Pyp visibly shudders.

“This,” he says, “is a question I like to _not_ think about, and if you don’t hate yourself you’ll do the same, because like _hell_ we’d be ready for it at full force. But hey, you’ve seen Marsh’s situation. He hasn’t gotten a raven promising they’ll send us any help in months.”

Theon thinks guiltily of the ravens from the Night’s Watch that reached the Northern camp when he still was there.

Ravens that Robb said he couldn’t afford to answer, not when he needed all the men he could use.

Right.

 _Robb_.

Theon shakes his head and rather than asking more questions, he chooses to drink his ale.

\--

The next morning, _he_ feels like a bloody Other, whether they’re coming or not.

He hasn’t slept a wink, because if he didn’t dream of Robb’s disappointed face or _that_ horrid nightmare he had in Winterfell, it was those two children’s dead eyes or Reek’s words, which made so much sense then and sound like utter rubbish now and whose mellifluous tone makes him want to vomit just thinking about it, and wasn’t he surprised to find out that the man actually was fucking _Ramsay Snow_ out of everyone, and if it wasn’t either thing it was his father’s _even more disappointed face_.

Well, he thinks, not relishing his pounding headache, too bad. He’ll have to get out of bed anyway. He dresses, drags himself downstairs, breaks his fast on his own because he can’t see Pyp anywhere and he’s nowhere near the point of wanting to talk to anyone else, and then – right. He said he’d be in the yard. He goes to Marsh first just too be sure he isn’t on _any_ duty, but the man shrugs him off and tells him to just making himself fucking useful, he needs to write the Dornish, so Theon figures that the yard it is.

There’s a few kids sparring with fairly pitiful results, and when one of them comes up to him saying that Pyp said he was willing to teach them a few pointers he agrees, figuring it can’t be harder than teaching _Robb_ , and doesn’t _that_ hurt, and by the time they’re supposed to head back for lunch all four of them are… well, they didn’t magically learn the art of the trade but they can hold a bow and can _aim_ , though not very well, which is still better than before, anyway. He tells them that he’ll be around here whenever he’s not on duty, whatever the hell that means, and he doesn’t feel _entirely_ useless.

He does feel _entirely_ tired, though, and since he knows he has cleaning rounds but not any other kind of and he’s dead tired he sneaks out of the room and heads for his own, figuring he’ll catch some sleep, if he can.

It’s _bad_ sleep, but it’s better than the almost none he got during the night, and he’s slightly more lively when he goes downstairs for dinner.

“The recruits are enthusiastic about your bow skills,” Pyp informs him, sounding – smug? _Why_ would he care?

“They are?”

“If I were you, I’d start to plan about how to become master at arms. No one wants Ser Alliser around, it might be a good plan.”

Theon would really like to know _how bad_ is this Thorne exactly, then he figures he’ll keep his mouth shut.

After they’re done, he stays behind.

He also, guiltily, pretends to be cleaning until he sees _how_ Pyp actually does it.

Too bad that Pyp is an observant little shit – more than Jon ever was.

“Never done that in your life, did you?”

At least he’s not sounding _too_ judging.

“No,” Theon sighs.

“Well, doesn’t take bein’ literate to go at it. Just scrub hard and wash that rag once in a while. Actually, never mind. Do the tables, I’ll do the floor, just take a look.”

Theon does, after all scrubbing the _tables_ clean isn’t such complicated work, and next time he’ll know at least how he’s supposed to go about the floor. No point in postponing it any further.

\--

The day after his first _cold_ night patrol is the only one where he can actually fucking sleep.

Mostly because after spending six hours outside in the freezing cold patrolling with Pyp he can barely feel his own hands and he’s too tired to do anything except pass out under the covers just after he lights a fire.

For the rest of the week it’s just nightmares over nightmares and people _do_ notice. A few men ask him if he’s feeling remorse for turning his cloak and _if only they knew_ , Theon thinks, _if only they knew how much_.

At least they can’t call him _kinslayer_ , since by now _everyone_ knows he never killed the _Stark_ children.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that after that week passes, Pyp tells him that the maester would like to see him.

“Have I fucked up already?” Theon asks, without preambles.

“I doubt it,” Pyp says, “someone just mentioned him that you’re not sleeping well.”

“And how would they know?”

“Theon, Jon _did_ say you were kind of an ass, but he never said you were an _idiot_. I can hear you at night sometimes and I’m at the end of the hallway, do you think everyone else in here _doesn’t_? Anyway, he says he might have a few ideas to solve your issues.”

“Oh. Fine then. Did he say now?”

“He said, quoting him, _it’s not like I have more pressing matters to attend_. Just go up ahead, he’ll be there.”

It’s not as if Theon can say _no_ when he’s pretty much been summoned, so – all right then. _Talking to Maester Aemon_ it is.

\--

“Maester Aemon,” Theon says cautiously as he walks inside the room. He _honestly_ hopes this won’t be anywhere like the conversation he had with Luwin before leaving Winterfell, because while it _did_ have good advice – he’s here, after all – he’s nowhere near willing to have it again.

And yet, it’s not as if he can refuse.

“Theon,” the man replies. “Do sit. Actually, you can fetch wine for the both of us before you do.”

Theon does as Aemon tells him the location of both wine and cups, and pours for both of them before sitting down. He admittedly puts _more_ in his own, but Aemon doesn’t correct him nor call him out if he has realized it somewhat.

If anything, Theon thinks, wine is better than ale when it comes to aid in forgetting your sorrows. Aemon takes a sip from his cup, with all the calm in the world. Theon takes a more substantial drink, and then another, and Aemon still hasn’t said a word.

“I – I imagine people complained about their sleep?” He finally says before the silence starts being too much and he just _has_ to fill it with _something_ , even if it means that _he_ has to speak first.

“Mayhaps they did,” Aemon agrees, “but that’s not why I told Pyp you should visit me. If it was just _that_ , I would not care either way and they could deal with it. A lot of our recruits sleep badly and it’s the least that they should learn to compromise. That said, there are other things I know when it concerns you.”

“Such as?” Theon asks cautiously, drinking a bit more wine, _just in case_.

“That since you came here, you did your job without complaining, that if you did not know how to go about something you watched and learned, that you have somewhat stepped in for what little you could when it came to Ser Alliser’s duties and that you haven’t come here just assuming you would have someone wait on you.”

Well, Theon thinks, makes sense that Pyp _would_ report to him. Or him and Noye.

“Which,” Aemon keeps on, “is _exactly_ the contrary of what the Stark soldiers told me to expect.”

“… I beg your pardon?” Theon asks, barely avoiding suffocating on his drink.

“They were very detailed when describing your failures, and how you most probably would be useless because you fancied yourself a prince of sorts.”

Theon wants to cringe at the thought.

“May I have more wine?” He asks.

“Help yourself,” Aemon says. “It’s not as if I have many chances to share it with anyone. Anyhow, sounds to me like they were wrong on at least the _useless_ part of their opinion. Now, at this point logic suggests that you actually do want to make up for your mistakes or at least that you aren’t here to waste anyone’s time, which is a commendable attitude. And since, sadly, not everyone is _not_ a time waster and from what I’m sensing you _might_ be an asset to the Watch, it’s in everyone’s best interest that we find out _why_ you sleep badly at night, don’t you think so?”

Theon feels like draining the entire flagon of wine.

“I suppose,” he says, instead, not liking how weak his voice sounds.

“So,” Aemon asks, “let me ask you the simple question first. You _do_ want to be useful. You said you tried to take your friend’s castle to _prove yourself_. To _whom_?”

Theon finishes his drink and tries to tell the story as precisely as he can, but early into it he finds it very, _very_ hard to keep to stick to facts that might not make him look completely pathetic.

In fact, he has to give up on giving the entire thing a semblance of dignity _very_ early into it – how can any retelling of his first meeting with his father sound anything but undignified?

“So,” Aemon says, as Theon quietly refills his cup, “you had a plan, which sounds not half bad to me, and he refused it on account of being what someone I once knew would have called _an old stubborn bastard_ under his breath?”

… Well, that was better than Theon had imagined. “Pretty much.” He goes on, tells Aemon about raiding the fisher villages and about how _useless_ he had felt and how he had taken Winterfell not just to show his father that he _could_ , but also because he always wanted to actually be part of the family and feel at _home_ and never did and so maybe he took it also because if he couldn’t have it peacefully, then he’d have it with war. He _does_ mention he had been so angry he might not have thought straight. Aemon hums and tells him to go on.

By the time Theon’s told the entire story it’s a miracle he hasn’t finished the entire damn flagon of wine, and that he’s not drunk from what he’s just drank – Aemon has barely finished his _first_ cup, he was into his third. Aemon keeps on humming in agreement or neutrally.

“I see,” he says when Theon falls silent. “And _what_ it is that you dream of at night?”

“Is – is it necessary to speak of it?” Theon asks, feeling like he could talk about anything but _that_.

“It is,” Aemon says. “Dreams can be very telling. Is it your father?”

“Not really,” Theon admits.

“Your sister? Maybe those two children –”

“Gods, hells, no. It’s – R – I mean, Lord Stark.”

“You can call him Robb,” Aemon says, sounding _almost_ amused. “And what happens in those dreams? Does he punish you for what you’ve done?”

“I wish,” Theon admits quietly. “It’s – it’s always the same. He doesn’t even talk to me. I – I am in Winterfell’s hall, and there’s some kind of feast going on, with food and drinks and whatever you’d have at a wedding, I suppose. And – everyone is dead. Everyone – meaning the people whose death I caused, so I guess I was maybe lying before. But – Robb, he – he’s sitting on the Stark seat and he’s _dead_. And – he doesn’t even have his head.”

“… He doesn’t?”

“No. It’s his direwolf’s. And he’s bleeding. From arrows, all over his back.”

Aemon’s hand shakes slightly at that, and Theon doesn’t like that. Until now, the old man’s hands have _always_ been steady. Absolutely steady.

“That… sounds somewhat troubling. More than so, truth to be told.”

“What, that he’s dead in that dream when he’s still alive?”

“No, not that. That might just be your guilt, Theon, and I don’t think that you need me to tell you _who_ is the person you think you failed most. What’s worrying is that it’s an _oddly_ specific dream. Did that direwolf ever threaten you?”

“What? No. No, all the contrary,” Theon thinks regretfully. _He would kill me on the spot now_.

“And _you_ hadn’t shot any of those arrows, did you?”

“Of course _not_ ,” Theon replies at once, almost feeling outraged at the suggestion, even if – even if it’s really hypocritical of him, since he _did_ take Robb’s castle and put his life on the line, but _was he thinking_?

“See,” Aemon says, “that does _not_ sound like a normal death,” Aemon goes on. “And again, it _really_ seems quite detailed. Tell me, Theon,” he keeps on, “did you ever happen to dream about something that _really_ happened later?”

Theon almost wants to laugh. “Maester, do you mean – _prophetic_ dreams? No. Hells, no. I don’t even think gods exist, these days, and if they do they certainly aren’t looking at me in favor.”

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” Aemon says, “but I can see why you’d think that. Anyway, I meant exactly that. And again, that sounds really, _really_ out of the norm. And if you will accept my advice, you might want to write your friend.”

“ _Sorry_? He wouldn’t even read such a letter. Not after –”

“He might,” Aemon says. “If his death hurts you that badly in _dreams_ , he might. And if someone dreamed about my death in such a specific way, I would want to know. I dare say that doing it might even ease your sleep, Theon. Think about it. And you can finish the wine, if you like. I have more than just that one flagon.”

Theon doesn’t even think twice before doing it.

“Thank you,” he says, and then proceeds to drink the entire thing.

“By the way,” Aemon goes on as he drinks, “if you think you might need quill and paper, you can ask Marsh and tell him I said you could have them, if he protests.”

“… Thank you, again,” he says, in a smaller voice than he’d like.

Then he downs the rest of the wine and excuses himself, walking down the stairs, and thinking, _what do I do now?_

He never knew anything of _prophetic dreams_. It seems preposterous to even assume _he_ out of anyone he would have any. But the old maester was right, as much as he’d like to deny it – it seems suspicious. It – it’s not ever going to let him sleep at night, and he _knows_ that.

Not unless –

He doesn’t know if it’s the drink or not, or if it’s just the fact that he can’t avoid facing it anymore, but if he only dreams of _Robb_ , then – then _he_ is the one he cares to make amends with, and he knows that he never will manage that, not like this, not when Robb most likely wants him dead and has all reasons to and when he _could_ take his head should he ride up here, because he hasn’t taken his vows now, _has he_ , and –

He kind of wants to throw up.

He stops, leans against the wall and tries to think.

After all, the letter doesn’t sound like _such a bad idea_. If anything, he’ll know he _did_ warn him, for whatever good it might’ve done, and Robb should probably know his brothers aren’t dead. He should also know _who_ convinced him to go along with that plan, because now that he thinks about it, it’s kind of suspicious that that _Reek_ would go and convince him of doing such a thing when all things considered it was obvious Theon had gone and fucked things up for good from the beginning.

He just – he has a very distinct feeling that Robb would not even want to read such a letter. And he’d deserve it, if he didn’t.

He grasps at the wall.

_That might just be your guilt, Theon, and I don’t think that you need me to tell you who is the person you think you failed most._

Shit, he thinks bitterly, _is this the month in which I need old maesters to explain me my own damned feelings_?

Then again, he did a fairly damn horrid job of understanding them himself, hasn’t he?

He shakes his head, goes down the stairs, heads for Marsh’s room and asks for quill and paper. He’s given quill and paper. He goes back to his small and cold room with a candle and sits down at the desk pushed to the corner and doesn’t even dare taking the quill in hand before having straightened out what he wants to say. Too bad that the wine isn’t making him coherent and he doesn’t have the space for anything long.

 _Fuck that_ , he thinks, and decides that he’s just going to stop overthinking this and do it. Possibly without reading again, lest he loses the force of will to actually write it.

He takes in a deep breath, dips the quill’s tip in the ink and writes what he wishes he had in Pyke.

\--

 

_Robb,_

_I know that you might not even want to read this. If you don’t, I would understand you. But there are things you should know and that I cannot tell you otherwise, so please, if you will, finish this letter._

_I will not lose time trying to justify myself for what I did to you. I was wrong to betray you and I regretted it sorely, and that’s why I intend to take the black, and I am fully committed to it. What you should know is that I never killed your brothers. They merely escaped and I couldn’t find them, and so I killed two commoner children to save face. Maybe at this point they will have come back to Winterfell since Ser Rodrik holds it again and you might know already, but if you hadn’t, now you do. Forgive me for that, as well. But also know that the seed was planted in my ear by Roose Bolton’s son who was pretending to be his own servant. I don’t know if you might need that information or if you have already been told, but you should be aware._

_The other thing you should know is that even since before I surrendered to Ser Rodrik, I dreamed of your death every other night. It’s always the same dream. You’re at a banquet, in a large hall, and everyone around us is dead, and you’re struck with arrows on your front and your back, and you have Grey Wind’s head sewn in place of yours. I spoke to the maester and he asked me if I ever had prophetic dreams. I am no greenseer and never was, and it might only be my guilt speaking, but if it’s not just that and if I am somehow seeing the future, you should know._

_Because I know how it might sound, but I never wanted you dead for a moment, and I don’t want it now, and that’s not how you deserve to die, if you have to._

_I hope you win this war. I really do. And I am sorry._

 

_Theon_

 

\--

He lets the ink dry, then carefully seals the message and leaves his room all over again, bringing it to the black brother currently manning the ravens.

“Send it to Riverrun,” he asks, “if you please.”

“For the King in the North, I suppose?” The man replies.

“Yes,” Theon doesn’t disagree.

The man shrugs, says nothing and finds a bird.

Theon watches it fly southbound, and hopes that it doesn’t get killed on the way, that Robb reads it and that Jon Snow doesn’t kill _him_ before he can actually receive an answer, if Jon actually does come back.

Then he remembers that he has first watch in a few hours, at this point.

\--

All his rounds have been during the night, so he has never actually gone on top of the Wall during the day. He reaches the lift when it’s still night – he hasn’t slept, he _couldn’t_ , but he’s still buzzed enough that he thinks he can soldier through his round and then spend a few hours catching up on sleep. It’s not like _anyone_ is watching them and if he’s around for dinner, no one will know.

“Rough night?” Pyp asks him as Theon joins him on the ramparts. Theon is secretly happy that he somehow always ends up doing the rounds with him.

“You could say that,” Theon sighs. “But maybe I did something about it.”

“Good,” he says. “Now you can enjoy one of the few perks of this damned fucking job.”

“As in?”

“Just look.”

Theon turns towards the forest and does, and –

 _Oh_.

The sun is rising over the horizon, and as it hits the ice covering the Wall the white turns into a warm pink hue with yellow shimmering here and there, and for a moment the entire place seems to shine with light from within, and he can only stare ahead until the sun’s light becomes too strong for him to keep on staring at it fully.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Pyp asks, standing up. “This is why most of us don’t hate _this_ particular round. At least it’s not the coldest. So, you ready?”

Theon thinks of his raven and about whether Robb will read it or not, hoping that he has one chance in hell of mending things with Robb either way, and then he looks down at his dark clothes and at the white, blinding snow surrounding him.

 _No_ , he’s nowhere near fucking ready, but he’ll force himself to be.

“Sure,” he says, “let’s do the damned round then.”

His heart’s been cold since he set his foot on Pyke. He thinks it’s cold, still.

Maybe it’ll be as long as he lives, if he lives long enough to take his vows and do _something_ with them, but it might be less bad than he had imagined it might ever be.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

II

 

Not long after he sends the letter, they get a raven confirming that Bran and Rickon were indeed found – and they had been hiding in the crypts, out of all places.

_The only place I could never let myself set foot in_ , Theon thinks wearily, and for that day he tries to keep to himself as much as he can, but no one takes notice and no one heeds him any mind.

Good thing they’re worried with more urgent things.

Anyhow, the Lord Commander isn’t here, and he can’t take his vows, and so he just tries to stop thinking about _everything_

(except in the darkness of his room at night, whenever he doesn’t have to do the rounds)

that’s not doing his job and patience if a few times he has to go clean the latrines. He really would have rather _not_ , but if he keeps his head down and follows through with his good intentions maybe if either Robb or Stannis or _whoever_ arrives here before he can take his vows they’ll have some reason to not have his head, and Snow won’t when he comes back, if he comes back.

He gets no answer, of course.

He also keeps on sleeping horribly at night – no surprise there.

He has _that_ dream still, and at some point after a week in a row of waking up with his forehead covered in bloody cold sweat, he sends Robb another letter, shorter, telling him to _please_ heed that damned dream even if he has no reason to trust him.

And then _some_ of the people he was told had gone beyond the Wall in the same group the Lord Commander and Snow left with come back.

_Some of them_.

Including a tall, extremely well-built guy who seems to be very close friend with Pyp’s, from the way Pyp runs up to him the moment he walks through Castle Black’s door and hugs him within an inch of his life before noticing that it’s really, really _not that many people_.

“Grenn,” he asks, “where’s Jon? Where’s Sam? Where’s _the Lord Commander_?”

Grenn goes immediately rigid.

Theon, standing in the back, can only think, _I smell bad news_.

“I reckon I should go tell Maester Aemon,” he says, “but long story short, Jon’s with the wildlings.”

He’s _what_ , Theon thinks. Jon Snow, _deserting_?

It’s just so damned improbable he can’t even _picture_ it.

Grenn shrugs. “Dunno, he killed the Halfhand ‘fore joining them, and we haven’t heard of him since. Anyhow, that’s not the worst. You did get those ravens Sam sent, yes?”

“No idea, Marsh would know,” Pyp shrugs.

“Well, wights attacked our camp at the Fist. ‘Bout fifty of us survived including Sam and the Lord Commander. We all went back to Craster’s, an’ Sam killed a wight on the way –”

“ _What_ ,” Pyp interrupts.

Theon would like to know why does he look so surprised that this Sam might have killed a wight, if he had the weapons to do so, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Grenn shrugs. “Well, he did. I was there. At the keep, though, there was – there was a mutiny. Chett and some others, they had already been thinkin’ about it or so it turned out.”

“ _What_? Fuck this, you can’t tell me that as bad off as we are –”

“I’m tellin’ you that we came back and we’re alive because we surrendered and said we’d come back and warn everyone of how it went. The Lord Commander got wounded, but he was still alive last I checked. He didn’t have it for long, though, I think. Sam stayed, I think he was sweet on one of Craster’s daughters.”

A fellow black brother with a very, _very_ sour look sighs fairly dramatically from behind Grenn and mutters something about people throwing their life away for _women_ , but Theon heeds him no mind.

“Gods,” Pyp says, pinching his nose. “Right. You all need to talk to Noye and Maester Aemon now. We can discuss the rest later, but – it’s good to see your ugly face again.”

“Same to you,” Grenn huffs, and he walks inside the post along with the other ten or so people that had come with him.

“Fuck,” Pyp says out loud the moment they’re gone.

“How bad is this exactly?” Theon asks, figuring that the answer would be _very much_ , but still – he wants to know.

“Well, we sent off a hundred people or so. It’s less than fifteen of them who came back now, and with our current numbers it’s really, _really_ bad news. On top of that, if Jon really deserted –”

“He can’t have,” Theon interrupts him.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve known Snow since he was _five_ ,” Theon snorts. “He’d gut himself before betraying a vow he took.”

“Well, he _was_ about to join Robb Stark when he declared himself king.”

_That_ takes Theon by surprise, _sort of_.

“Wait, really?”

“He didn’t because we stopped him. Grenn, I, a few other people.”

“But _did he_ leave, eventually?”

“No,” Pyp admits. “But –”

“Listen, Snow was no fun and he had a thing for brooding, and –” _And I always considered him beneath me_ , Theon doesn’t say. “ _And_ we didn’t like each other. But the moment anyone even dared hint that he might not be _exactly_ as honorable as his lord father or not _more_ , or not worthy of his name, he would become inconsolable. If he’s with your enemy, there must be a reason.”

“How are you so sure?”

Theon just shrugs. “I’ve known him since he was _five_. And – he was close with his brother,” he sighs. “Who was my friend. Believe me, _I_ would know, and I don’t praise Snow without reason, if I can help it.”

“Well, let’s just hope you’re right,” Pyp tells him, and then follows everyone else inside the castle.

Theon is tempted to follow, but no point in it – he’s no one and if he wants to know, he’ll ask later. He goes to the yard instead and tries to teach some archery to what few recruits are sadly attempting to shoot arrows towards the targets, and thinks, _now that would be hilarious if Snow really deserted_ , but – it just doesn’t add up. He can’t have done that. If he had wanted to, he’d have joined them, and _what if he had_.

He’s halfway sure Robb would have never sent him to Pyke alone, if Jon had been there to support his mother in her dislike of Robb and Theon’s plan.

He doesn’t want to know if it would have been better or worse, and he’s not going to ask himself what Robb would have done had Theon’s father rebelled when he was still in their camp.

No, he’s going to worry about these damned kids hitting a target.

It’s really a better idea all around.

\--

He’s introduced to the new people. He finds out that the infamous Sam Tarly is Snow’s best friend or _something_ and that everyone thought he didn’t have it in him to kill a wight, that Grenn is fairly easygoing to be around and same as Pyp he decides to not give a damn about the reasons why Theon’s here, and the guy who goes as Dolorus Edd is _even more of a killjoy_ than Snow to be around.

The atmosphere keeps on being dire, especially after the news about the Lord Commander that they received – he knows that the maester and Marsh and Noye talk in between them _a lot_ , and a lot of ravens leave Castle Black.

He does notice that none of them comes back.

\--

Then Jon Snow shows up at the gate with an arrow would in his leg that has made him bleed like a pig going to slaughter and about to fall off his damned horse.

\--

Theon sees enough of him, before he’s dragged upstairs so Maester Aemon can see him, to grasp that he’s going to live but he’s hardly in his best shape.

He _could_ ask, he thinks, but –

He’s not sure he wants to, so he does nothing and sticks to his duties. For a day or so, there are no news except that people are _talking_ , of course they are, and someone comes up to him to ask what he thinks, and he sticks to _as far as I know, he wouldn’t have deserted_.

Then Pyp sits down next to him at dinner.

“He was spying on them.”

“What?”

“He said it was all Qhorin’s plan, to get him to infiltrate the enemy and find out what they were up to. So, you were right. And given that apparently they’re planning to attack us very soon, I guess it was a good idea that he did it at all.”

“Look at that,” Theon sighs, “see if _that_ had to prove me right about fucking Jon Snow. How is he?”

He chooses to _not_ concentrate for now on the specific piece of information Pyp reported, as in, _that the wildlings are planning an attack_ , because if he goes _there_ –

He doesn’t even want to think about it. Not for now.

“He’ll live. He also wants to see you. Oh, and there’s a raven for you that arrived from Riverrun a moment ago, but the maester has it. He says he’ll give it to you when you go upstairs.”

Theon is not relishing the prospect of _seeing Jon Snow_ , or talking to him, but never mind that. It’s not like he can avoid it forever, and maybe he can convince him that he _does_ have good intentions, and if he’s anywhere like Robb (not Ned Stark, Theon sighs, figuring that _he_ wouldn’t have let him live), _maybe_ he’ll let him be.

Gods, he really does hope so.

But –

A raven from Riverrun.

_A raven from Riverrun._

If it means Robb answered and that he has to talk to Snow first before he’s given that letter, then he can talk to Snow a thousand times over at this point.

\--

He doesn’t even know what to expect as he walks into Maester Aemon’s room – Jon is lying on the bed and the first thing Theon thinks the moment he sees him is, _he looks years older_. Longer hair, longer beard, he has burn scars on one hand and a nasty scar on his face and he’s lost some weight, and the moment he looks up at him it feels _massively_ weird because it’s his father’s eyes but at the same time Ned Stark never really looked at him as if he was surprised, halfway angry and _resigned_ at the same time.

For a moment, they just stare at each other.

Then –

“Let me tell you,” Theon says, “this wasn’t where I fancied I’d ever see you again.”

Jon just _stares_ at him.

Then –

“It’s _somehow_ good to hear that you haven’t changed a bit,” he huffs, sitting up straighter. He sounds tired.

_Real_ tired.

Theon doesn’t even try to deny it. “What did they tell you?”

Jon shrugs. Theon can’t help noticing that he’s _all_ muscle underneath his shirt. It’s like coming here took all softness out of him, what of it that he had anyway.

“That you betrayed Robb out of some ridiculous notion and you ended up realizing it was a damned horrible idea and you surrendered Winterfell to Ser Rodrik and came here to take the black after pretending to kill my brothers.”

“… That’s not incorrect,” he admits.

Jon _stares_ at him. “Theon, _fuck_ ’s – I had an arrow in my leg until yesterday, I – _never mind_ , a horde of wildlings is going to attack us in a week at most, and _you took Winterfell from Robb_. Not that I’m owed an explanation or anything because if you want to take the black it’s hardly my place to stop you, but I’d appreciate one nonetheless. If you’d be _so kind_.” The last part was pure sarcasm – Theon whistles.

“Did you grow that streak of… _not being that bloody serious_ just lately or was it hidden somewhere all along?”

“You don’t even want to know,” Jon mutters, and he _still_ is looking at him.

At least not with a homicidal look to his face, Theon decides.

It could be _plenty damn worse_.

“Fine,” Theon says. “Listen, I’ll try to be – you can believe it or not, but Robb and I had a plan. It included giving my father a crown, allying with him and raiding Lannisport so we’d have their money, in change for his ships. So, we’d be _allies_.”

“It’s… not a bad plan,” Jon admits. “Did Robb came up with it?”

“No, _I_ did,” Theon sighs.

“… It’s still not a bad plan. Fine. What happened?”

“My father utterly refused to ally with Robb and decided he was going to go to war against him instead. Ah, and he had been planning it since before I left for Pyke.”

At _that_ , Jon’s face turns into a somewhat sympathetic grimace, even if he says nothing.

“I – I didn’t take it well.” He’s _not_ going to go over the details of this – he knows it’s not exactly fair, but thinking on it, he’s so ashamed of how he dealt with that situation and of how he reacted, he’s not sure he wants anyone else to know. Least of all Jon Snow. “If I went back to Robb, it’d have meant losing my inheritance and my titles. But staying – he didn’t trust me. I thought that if I took Winterfell, he’d – appreciate it.” _And that if he didn’t, at least it’d be mine own when it couldn’t before_ , he doesn’t say. He has a feeling Snow would _not_ appreciate that whatsoever.

“Let me guess, he didn’t?”

“No,” he laughs. “Then – well. Your brothers escaped. I might’ve lost control of the situation. I – there was that servant of Ramsay Snow’s, or that’s who he said it was, because then it turned out it was that bastard himself, who had arrived at some point offering advice. He said I should kill two other children and pretend it wasn’t the two of them so I’d save face. I – I went along with it.”

He shudders, thinking of those little corpses dipped in tar, and he wants to throw up. He didn’t let himself do it until now.

For a _reason_ , damn it.

“It – it just – I couldn’t hold it after that, either. It was for nothing, and your brothers were in the crypts. Serves me well.”

“At least you said it without me needing to,” Jon sighs.

“Well – I lost my wits, all right? I just – I don’t – I’m not proud of it. I would never do it again, having the chance. Still – I cannot undo it.”

“So you’re here to atone?” Jon asks, still keeping his voice very flat. Theon almost envies him – he always was a good actor when it came to faking being _happy_ , but never at pretending he was unaffected.

“I’m here because it was the only – the only not dishonorable choice.” He considers being sincere about this or lying, not counting all the least pleasurable things he omitted from his narration, then decides that if they have to coexist at least until the wildlings kill them all, he might as well do it now. “And I thought it was the only one that gave me half a chance to… live and accomplishing something.”

Jon laughs a bit at that, but it’s not an amused laugh, or the kind that flowed freely in between him and Robb or him and his little sister. “Theon, I hope you’re aware that anything you _accomplish_ here is only seen as such by your fellow brothers. If you think that rising in the ranks or becoming Lord Commander will get you any respect outside of _maybe_ the North, you’re wrong.”

It kind of stings that Jon could see through him _so_ quickly but then again, hadn’t Theon guessed that he _hadn’t_ in fact, deserted, when they aren’t even supposed to _like each other_?

“I’m – I’m not expecting it,” he says, “but I don’t want to _die_ , all right? And I don’t see any other option.”

“Fair enough,” Jon sighs. “Never mind that – it’s not the point.” He sounds _sad_ , though. Really sad. Theon itches to ask, but –

It’s not his business.

“Right,” Jon says, and stares at him again. Shit, Theon can’t help remarking how he just has a quietly devastated look to himself, as if it’s paining him to even talk. “I never liked you that much. I never understood why Robb did. That’s _your_ business. I wish I could say I didn’t understand how you could have _not_ gone back to him, but then again, I was about to do the same thing and my friends stopped me, so while I didn’t, you know, _hurt him_ by doing that, I have no moral high ground here. And I did things while – I was supposedly _deserting_ – that I wish I hadn’t done. Not the same thing as killing innocent children, but that’s on _your_ conscience to deal with. If you’re true to your intentions and you want to be here and not slouch around, I’m afraid we actually need people with skills, and sure as hell I can’t kill you in revenge for _whatever it is_ you’re done to Robb when he’s not – when _technically_ I renounced him the moment I took my vows.” Theon hears an, _and I regret it sorely_ hidden in that sentence but Jon doesn’t say it and he doesn’t ask any further. “There’s an army coming. I’d be a thrice-damned idiot if I killed one of the best archers in this place.”

“How do you know –”

“Theon, _please_ , do you think I don’t know about _everyone’s_ skills around here? Unless someone else better than you arrived at the same time, you’re better than most people around here. If not _all_ of them. Please don’t ask questions that answer themselves.”

“So –”

“ _So_ , what should I say? If we all survive the oncoming wildling attack and the Lord Commander ever comes back and you still want to take those vows, you won’t find me stopping you. Whatever I’d have done to you if I hadn’t taken sworn myself to the Night’s Watch I cannot do _now_ , and if I actually went through with it – no. And Pyp said you actually are being useful, so what do I know.”

For a moment, Theon doesn’t know what to say.

Then he swallows his pride and decides to just say it. “Thanks,” he mutters. “I’ll – I disappointed him greatly. I’ll try not to do the same.”

“It’s not _me_ you don’t have to disappoint,” Jon shrugs, “but good thing you seem to be _thinking straight_. Ah, and the maester said to give you this,” he adds, and then _hands him the damned letter_.

He hadn’t expected it to be still sealed, actually, but –

“Wait, _you_ had it?”

“He said there was no point in having you look for him and the likes. And honestly, when Pyp told me I was angry, but then – I figured that if you had written Robb for excusing yourself or _whatever_ and he actually answered, I should at least hear you out. No, I haven’t read it.”

Theon reaches out and snatches it from Jon’s hands, not even trying to hid that his own are shaking wildly as he tears open the seal. He closes his eyes for a moment – he wants to read it and then he _doesn’t_ , because if Robb tells him that he’d like to have his head anyway he would understand but it would _hurt_ and he’s trying to not even take that option into consideration, but he’s going to have to, and if he has to do it in front of Jon Snow, he’ll endure whatever shameful thing his reaction will end up being.

He opens the raven after taking in another breath, thinking that maybe he should have taken a seat, but – that’s not the point, is it?

\--

 

_Theon_ , it reads.

_I don’t know what I had expected from a letter you would send me. I thought I’d ask for an explanation before taking your head, if we ever met again, and you haven’t actually given me that, but at least I appreciate that you didn’t try to excuse yourself. I knew about Bran and Rickon from before I received your first missive, but I appreciated that you’d tell me, because what gutted me most when hearing the news was that I thought you would never harm_ them _. I could believe you might have taken Winterfell for whichever reason, but I couldn’t believe you’d do it. I’m glad I was right._

  _About the rest, I thought it was a joke when I read the first letter. Then I got the second. And some things happened that are – somehow troubling. I – I am taking what you said into account. I really am. I cannot say more also because I am still looking into the troubling matters, and I don’t even know if I’ll ever trust you enough to do it, but Winterfell stands and my brothers are alive and those people who are dead because of you are on your conscience. If you ever want to give me that explanation, I would actually hear it. And if you’re set on the Night’s Watch… our House always was a friend to it, and I would like to think I am above petty vengeances. If that’s where you want to stay, I won’t be the one asking the Lord Commander to send you back. Tell Jon I miss him and if that’s how you want to atone, I won’t be stopping you._

 

_Robb_

 

\--

He reads it twice, not even believing it – it’s better than he had even dared imagine. A _lot_ better than he dared imagine. He hadn’t thought Robb would even care for his reasons when it came to _why_ he did it, but –

_If you ever want to give me that explanation, I would actually hear it._

 

“Gods,” Jon says, “if anyone ever told me I’d see you _cry_ one day, I’d have found it the most amusing thing in all of Westeros.”

_Shit_ , he thinks, wiping at his eyes immediately.

“Well, he says he misses you,” Theon mutters, not quite wanting to touch the rest of the missive.

Meanwhile, he can only think, _I didn’t blow my only chance to make some peace with him_ , and the thought is so sweet he almost wants to cry _again_ at it.

“I do as well,” Jon sighs, “if you write him back before we all might die, tell him.”

“Wait, _if_ –”

“You wouldn’t be crying in _relief_ if he didn’t want an answer to that letter, Theon.”

Fair point. “It’s just –” He thinks, _should I tell him_.

Then he figures that maybe Jon would take it as an act of trust or _something_. “Listen, I’ve – I’ve been dreaming that he dies a fairly horrible death since _before_ I surrendered.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s – more than horrible. I told the maester, he started talking about prophetic dreams – which I sure as the seven hells never _had_ in my damned life – and I wish I could say it was all nonsense, but he had a point and it’s too specific and it has happened too many times. I wrote him twice to warn him about it and I just wanted to be sure he knew.”

Jon _stares_ at him with something new in those damned grey eyes of his. “Theon, are you telling me you’re actively trying to keep him alive even if it might be just your conscience speaking?”

“ _Jon_ , I never – I never wanted to _hurt_ him. I mean, I wasn’t thinking straight, I told you, but – at some point I just thought that he could have the Trident and I’d have Winterfell and – I never wanted him to _die_ , gods.”

“… You _do_ realize that it sounds completely ridiculous, don’t you?”

“I know _now_ , thanks. I didn’t when I was – well. Taking Winterfell, I suppose.”

“Good gods, you have _issues_ ,” Jon sighs, “but so does everyone. Well, it’s obvious you didn’t mean to harm him, in whichever queer way it is you meant it. Go write him that answer. The moment I can stand and I warn everyone else that when Mance’s army shows up we’re all likely to die, no one is going to have time to write any ravens.”

_He’s right_ , Theon has to admit to himself.

“I – I will then. And – well, let’s just hope we don’t die, shall we?”

“Keep that up,” Jon sighs, “ _someone_ might have to.”

Theon nods and runs out of the room, thinking that it went even _too well_ – so he’s not going to go back and goad Snow some, or do anything he might have done _before_ he set foot in Castle Black.

He goes back to his room instead after asking Marsh for more paper and ink.

He hopes Snow is exaggerating – but he doubts it – and so if this is the last thing he ever writes Robb before he dies in this frozen piece of stone, maybe he should make it _mean_ something.

\--

 

_Robb,_

 

_You don’t know how glad I am to hear you aren’t dismissing that dream outright. I know you didn’t even owe me to read that letter, but – I am. Truly._

_As far as concerns that explanation, very well. I went to my father with our plan and he threw the letter in the fire and informed me that he was already planning to go to war against you and he said that I had to choose. I chose him, and I picked wrong, but – I had spent my entire life imagining my return home, as you know, and I couldn’t accept that it was going otherwise and that he would berate me rather than welcome me. Then, he still didn’t trust me. I thought taking Winterfell would show him that I was truly on his side, and on one side I figured that since I never quite felt like one of_ yours, _if I ever wanted it to be home to me, I might as well take it. I know it sounds horribly petty now, but I guess that it was, and it was, and I wasn’t really thinking straight, and I thought taking Winterfell was the best way to show him that I wasn’t really at your beck and call._

_Every other day I think I should have gone back to Riverrun. I cannot change what I did, but I hope that I can make up for it from now on._

_Your brother informed us that there’s a wildling army marching towards us. I don’t know how large he is, but he’s not really very positive on the outcome. This is the point where years ago I’d have joked about Jon never being much positive period, but if neither of us answers back, just know that I will regret it for every day of my life. And he says he misses you, too. Also, I still have that dream. Not as often as before, but I do._

_Please take care._

 

_Theon_

 

\--

He gives Marsh the letter and it’s sent off just before Noye knocks forcefully at the door and says that Snow needs to talk to everyone because he saw alarming things on the other side of the Wall and he has dire news.

He watches that raven fly towards Riverrun and he can only hope it gets there safely. That’s about all he can do for now.

\--

What he notices, as they get their defenses ready, what little they have of it, is that either the Wall has made Jon _even_ more sullen or whatever happened beyond it has turned his mood even more sour than usual.

For a few days, he keeps his mouth shut, also because they’re never paired together for anything – he has a feeling it’s being done on purpose, and he can’t even disagree with it. But then one day they _do_ get paired up to go place powder kegs along the lower staircase, which was Noye’s idea and one of the few decent tactical resources they apparently had, and the only one that might actually kill a sizable number of wildlings should they approach it.

And Jon looks – like he’s about to burst at the seams. He’s walking on a crutch thanks to that arrow wound and he certainly should be in _bed_ and not hopping around getting defenses ready, and his fingers are slightly shaking and at some point, Theon huffs and takes his place.

“If you drop that thing we’re wasting good fuel,” he says. “Or we’re just blowing up if something goes wrong. Just let me do it.”

“If only,” Jon mutters, and –

_What._

“Snow, you’re a lot of things, but last I heard, you didn’t have a death wish. And I don’t know what in the seven hells is killing you here but you’re not going to be of any use to anyone whenever the wildlings arrive, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll do my duty,” Jon replies curtly.

“I never said you weren’t going to, but it’s obvious something is eating at you and maybe you should tell your friends.”

“Hells, _no_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Fine, let’s see if I can amuse myself at your expenses again.”

“ _Theon_ –”

“Whatever it is that’s wrong with you, it obviously happened _beyond_ the Wall, because _they_ also noticed and I guess it means you were better off before. So, it had to be when you were with our wildling horde.”

“Theon, if you know what’s good for you –”

“You said before you need archers, shut your mouth. So, I was saying, with the wildlings. Obviously, you came here because you wouldn’t _not_ do your duty, but you haven’t done it gladly.”

“ _How_ do you know –”

“Jon, you just said _you wished we’d blow up_ and I can understand if you wished _I_ would, but you included yourself in that statement and I didn’t wish to die even at my lowest moment in Winterfell, which is saying a _lot_. You cannot have done that gladly.”

Jon goes rigid as he looks down at his hands. If he wants them to steady, he’s not doing a great job of convincing himself.

“What if I didn’t?”

Theon shrugs. “Do you think _I_ can stand here and judge your bad life choices? If you had to infiltrate them I guess you had to gain their trust,” he guesses, and at the grimace Jon makes he knows he’s hit this metaphorical target.

He wishes he could feel glad about it.

“Maybe I had to,” Jon confirms.

“Right, but this can’t be just about _friends_ , since you have some here, too, and they came first.”

Jon grimaces again.

Theon has a feeling that he can relate, because it’s… well, he doesn’t want to say that Jon looks like _he_ was feeling when he realized what a colossal mistake he had made when he chose to turn his back on Robb, but he thinks it’s more or less the same situation.

Except that Jon can’t have done the equivalent of turning his back on his closest friend or his brother, especially because he _has_ technically been there and done that when he _didn’t_ desert the first time around.

He tries to guess. It’s not about _Robb_ , and it’s not about one of his friends, and certainly it’s not about Ned Stark. It’s probably about someone he met in the wildling camp. But knowing Jon and how he _never_ was the one out of the Stark children who went out to meet people or had friends everywhere bar Robb and his siblings, he doubts that he can have made such a close friend in between the enemy. No, it has to be something else.

_Who would it hurt to betray that much?_ , Theon thinks, and then –

Wait a moment.

“Snow,” he says, “are you _not_ telling me that you might have left a brokenhearted maiden in the wildling camp?”

The face Jon makes at that point is so surprised it would make Theon laugh, if there was anything funny about their current situation and the last ten powder kegs they have to hide in the staircase.

“She wasn’t a maiden,” he immediately says, and then his face turns _red_ , oh gods, _did he actually guess right?_ “And I mean, I doubt she’s brokenhearted, she’d be more angry than that, but –”

“I was guessing, actually, but what else could send you into such a mood?” Theon says defensively. “And from how you look right now, it seems to me like she wasn’t a _mere_ … not maiden, or whatever.”

“She – she’s a spearwife,” Jon sighs, “and she’s definitely going to murder me the next time I see her, if I ever do, and given that I promised her I wouldn’t leave her _maybe_ she’d be right.”

Gods, Theon thinks, he sounds like he’s about to cry.

He wants to say something to disrupt the tension or _whatever_ , because this is really _not_ the situation he had imagined himself ending up in when he decided to take the black.

Surely _giving Jon Snow counsel about a woman_ was not in his plans. Now or ever.

_And instead, look at us_.

_This should have been Robb’s job, not mine_ , he thinks bitterly.

“Seems to me like at least you _really_ cared about this spearwife,” he says.

“Sure, I did,” Jon whispers. “I – I love her,” he admits, very quietly. “And I don’t know why in the seven hells I’m telling _you_ out of everyone, but I cannot go around admitting I’ve broken my vows with the others, and –”

“You broke your – oh. _Ah_ , so _she_ wasn’t the maiden but _you_ were?”

“Gods, she said the exact same thing, _can you bloody stop_?”

Theon raises up his hands, palms outright. “Fine, _fine_ , whatever you say. So, you miss her?”

“It’s not that I _miss_ her, it’s that I know I’ve done the right thing and I know I’ve done my duty, but _I still wish I hadn’t_ , and then I think about what you said about your father and why you betrayed Robb and _you wish you hadn’t_ and I can’t even stay bloody angry at you because I’m thinking the same damned thing, except that at least I hope I made the right choice. _That’s_ the bloody problem.”

Theon has a feeling that right now he’s not even talking to _him_ anymore, he’s saying that out loud because he has to and he’s the only one who’ll listen and who he _can_ tell any of this to, and –

_When did his life turn into giving Jon Snow counsel about women_ , again?

“Well, glad to know that it makes you more sympathetic to my current plight.”

“Don’t push it, Greyjoy,” Jon sighs. “Anyway. I feel horrible for having left her. There, are you satisfied?”

“I just wanted you to admit it so you would stop trying to purposefully blow yourself up, Snow. How is she?”

“ _What_? Why do you care?”

“Gods, you _obviously_ need to talk about it, and you have no better choice than the present company, and who would I even tell? I want people to _like_ me, not _hate_ me, not when this is my last and only chance at my head staying on my shoulders, and talking about your love life isn’t what will endear me to anyone around here.”

Jon seems to consider it for a moment, then he shrugs.

“She’s named Ygritte. She – she has bright auburn hair. They – the wildlings say that people with it are kissed by fire. Figures. They’re supposed to be luckier than most and she ended up with _me_. Not really that lucky. She had blue eyes and freckles everywhere and – well, I guess she’s not _beautiful_ the way Lady Stark was, but – she’s one of a kind, I don’t even know how else to put it. And she didn’t give a damn about my surname or the fact that I was a _maiden_ or nothing else. Imagine that, bastards don’t exist, north of the Wall.”

“I can guess why you’d loathe leaving then,” Theon muses. Jon shoots him a glare.

“Yes, you _could_. Anyway. It doesn’t matter now, because she’ll be with the wildling army and I’ll be _here_ because it’s my goddamned duty and I left her behind and she won’t care that I wish I could have _not_ done it.”

There are _things_ Theon could say, but they all sound way too intimate for what the two of them are even to each other and the situation is too tense and delicate to risk ruining the equilibrium.

So, he figures he’ll do what he would have done in Winterfell, in another life.

“See, that’s why I always thought the Watch vows were idiotic.”

“Sorry?”

“ _Father no children_. Just take that off the list and stop fighting wildlings who seems to me are the same kind as us, if you’re _compatible_ , and you would be all happier and less miserable in this cold wasteland, Snow.”

For a moment, nothing happens.

And then _he_ almost drops the keg in his hand when Jon cracks a _hint_ of a smile – he doesn’t laugh, but seeing the situation, it looks like he was _about to_.

“Fuck you,” he says, but it has no bite. “And just put that one where it’s supposed to be, I’ll do the rest. Don’t worry, my hands are fine.”

“As the Lord Commander requests,” Theon says, moving up on the staircase.

“In everyone’s dreams,” Jon mutters, and when Theon glances at him grabbing one of the remaining powder kegs, his fingers are steady.

Well, _that_ at least.

He could say something else, but it feels too fresh a wound to poke even if he’s not even supposed to care if it’s about Jon, and so he shuts his mouth because if Jon can get his pain at understanding he should have stayed with Robb, he _can_ understand why Jon would feel conflicted about leaving behind the woman he loves for duty.

Which is, after all, exactly what _he_ did, more or less, and what a great _duty_ that was.

He thinks about what Jon said about this woman. Wildling, fiery auburn hair, freckles, blue eyes, _not a maiden_.

Somehow, he’s nowhere near surprised _that_ would be someone convincing Snow to break his precious vows. Still –

He’ll remember the description. For _what_ , he doesn’t know, but something tells him he shouldn’t forget, and he doesn’t think he will.

\--

When the wildlings _do_ attack, he decides that he was right in telling Robb goodbye in that letter, for what it was worth – he _seriously_ doubts that he’s going to survive this, especially given _how many_ of them are in the first wave coming by. He’s been put in charge of the archery in the roof where Jon isn’t, and given that most people on it were people _he_ taught it goes better than he had imagined, but he doesn’t kid himself that it will last much longer, not when Jon said this was just _the beginning_ of it.

Never mind that when he sees Jon shooting arrows for _hours_ while going around on the damned roof _on a crutch_ he feels retroactively bad for all the times he was an arse to him during training back in the day. It’s obvious that he _shouldn’t_ be here, and instead he’s bellowing orders and making sure that arrows don’t get wasted and he also manages to keep the spirits high, for what it’s worth. _He’d have made a fine commander_ , Theon has to admit to himself. _I suppose it’s time to make peace with the fact that it wasn’t my call_.

Every time some food comes up they swallow it down as if it’s the last, and every once in a while he glances at the barrels they used to put up the barricades, thinks about what’s _underneath_ , and then he shoots his arrows and refrains from saying anything that’s not joining Pyp’s bets about how many wildlings they can shoot with one quiver.

The only consolation is that _he_ is the only one whose arrows never miss the target.

A small one, given how outnumbered they are.

\--

They hold up, for a while.

At some point Jon tells him that he obviously has the situation under control here so he’ll go worry about the next roof over, and he leaves, still hobbling on the damned crutch. Theon doesn’t know how he hasn’t fainted yet, but never mind – he tries to keep focused and to make sure the people under his responsibility don’t waste what little ammunition they have. He does well enough, he thinks, even if the more people he sees approaching their meager defenses, the less hopeful he feels about this, if he had felt hopeful in the beginning in the first place.

_Robb_ , he thinks, _I’m glad that I sent you that raven after all_.

The fact that everyone is looking at him in awe as he hits target after target isn’t doing anything to make his day any better, or his night, or his _week_.

And if he has purposefully avoided shooting _any_ wildling with red hair, well, no one has to know.

Still, at the end, as much as they can hold up, it’s not enough. The moment the people from Mole’s Town stop holding their ground and leave them to their fate, Noye disappears after leaving Jon in charge and tells them to shoot the flaming arrows at the stairs just after they leave Castle Black, and he knows that he’s not long for this world.

At least _he_ hasn’t had any losses in his small group, he thinks with little satisfaction as they abandon Castle Black for the Wall, figuring that if anything they’ll die stopping _this_ wave, and then –

And then, well, it’ll be King’s Landing’s problem. Or Winterfell’s problem. Or the problem of everyone who has underestimated what was going on here.

_I’m thinking just like a crow now, am I not_? He reasons bitterly, as he gets his bow ready to fire, all over again.

They shoot the flaming arrows. The stairs near collapse on themselves and explode in a cloud of fire as the kegs blow up, bringing the entire block of ice and stone they were attached at with, crashing the wave of wildling riders and spearwives, and if he can see Jon’s face contorting in anguish, it’s not his place to point that out.

\--

“Someone needs to check if there are any prisoners to be found,” Noye says.

“I’m going,” Jon replies immediately, grabbing his crutch.

“I’m going, too,” Theon says a beat later, even if a part of him is telling _why would you even do it, what do you want to accomplish, do you want everyone to assume you think yourself so much better?_

_No,_ he tells himself, _if I want to make a good name for myself here I have to do this._

A few others volunteer to go – they agree on which side of the stairs’ ruins they should check, and he leaves, bow in hand. He’s sure that some of the others weren’t _on the Wall_ but stayed beneath so they could have better access to any survivors, so he should tell them to get upstairs, too, since he’s here.

He goes down the stairs, quietly, walking in between dust, broken wood and pieces of marble, and then –

Then he sees one of theirs with a bow aiming at someone. He glances to his right.

It’s a woman. With bright, bright auburn hair, a bow in her hands and a nocked arrow, desperately looking around herself. When she turns his way, he can see that she has freckled cheeks in the firelight.

_Oh seven hells, that has to be Jon’s woman_ , he thinks, and he can see his fellow man aiming at her, and –

Shit. If he stops the man, she’ll see him and most likely kill him. If he does nothing, she’s _dead_ and suddenly, thinking about Jon’s horribly _sad_ and destroyed face, he can only think, _Robb is as good as dead to me, but what if_ she _wasn’t as good as dead to him?_ , and _neither of them has seen him_.

He doesn’t move, grabs his bow, hides behind a piece of rubble, and the moment the other man shoots that arrow, he shoots his own and hits it in the middle of its way towards the girl, and then he ducks over the moment the man glances his way. The woman – what was her name, right, _Ygritte_ – does notice the help, because she immediately ducks behind another piece of rubble, too.

Well, fuck, now he’s going to have to play it safe. He stays on the ground, rolls over and gets into a crouch until he’s out of the other man’s line of sight, and then he runs straight where she’s hiding and moves behind her, putting a hand on her mouth and grabbing her around the waist – she tries to get out of the hold, but he’s strong, and he’s _tired_ , and he doesn’t even know why the hell he’s doing this, but there’s a ridiculous, _nonsensical_ part of him saying that if he disappointed Robb he might as well _not_ disappoint his brother, even if he can’t give two fucks about Jon Snow.

Or so he likes to think.

“Stop that,” he hisses, “ _I_ fired that arrow.”

At that, she goes still.

“If I let you talk, will you _not_ do anything stupid?”

She nods.

He moves his hand away from her mouth.

“ _Why_ ,” she spits.

Well, she certainly has _fire_ to her, all right. “Because,” he whispers, “I know Jon, and he might have had something to say about you when he came back, and I’m fairly sure that while _you_ have very good reasons to want him dead, _he_ would rather see you living.”

At that, her mouth falls open. “ _Jon Snow_ ,” she says. “Why, that –”

“Brooding bastard who told you he had deserted and actually had _not_? Yes, _that_ one, and he also loves you, or so it seems, and we don’t really have too much fucking time here so how about you let me take you prisoner so we can put you somewhere you won’t risk your head and _no one_ has to die, for now?”

She stares at him. “And who are _you_ , to decide whether I’m prisoner or not?”

“Theon Greyjoy, at your service, and I’m your best chance of _not dying yet_ , so – are you coming or not?”

For another _long_ moment, she stares at him.

Then – then it’s as if all her will to antagonize him saps out of her. She moves back and holds out her wrists. “Fine, _Theon Greyjoy_ , I’m your prisoner. Just know _Jon Snow_ stole me first,” she adds, winking tiredly, like someone who knows she’s lost at least this one battle.

“Believe me,” Theon says, as wearily, tying her hands together with some rope he had with, “the last thing I want to do is questioning with Jon over whoever _stole people_ first.”

He drags her back upstairs.

“This one yielded,” he says, keeping his head high. “I’m bringing her to the cells.”

A few people curse, a few clap, a few scream in delight. Theon dares glancing at Jon for a moment.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look _so_ relieved in his entire damned life.

_Who’d have thought_ , he thinks, and drags Ygritte to the cells where he makes sure to find her one that’s empty and not too dirty.

“I think he’ll show up soon,” he says, apologetically. “Unless you don’t want him to.”

“Does he think that I don’t?” She replies, staring up straight at him.

“I have a strong feeling he does,” Theon shrugs.

“Then tell him that he knows nothing and that he should get his arse here already.”

She doesn’t thank him for saving _her_ sorry arse, Theon notices, but he has a feeling she’s not the kind for thanking anyone.

Well, he decides as he heads back towards where the others still are, he thinks he likes her well enough. Sure as the seven hells she’s wasted on Snow, he has a feeling, but if it’s _her_ choice, it’s also not his damned business.

\--

“She wants to see you,” he tells Jon lately, when no one’s listening to them and everyone else is counting the dead and Noye is obviously assessing the situation, because they _know_ it’s not over here.

“She does?” Jon asks, sounding surprised.

“She said that if you thought she wouldn’t, you _know nothing_. Am I supposed to grasp some kind of hidden meaning or what?”

The last thing he was expecting was for Jon’s face to break in a relieved expression as he hastily reaches up at his eyes to wipe at what seems like tears.

“It’s – it’s – a thing she used to tell me,” he says.

“That you knew nothing?”

“Yes,” Jon confirms. “It was – _our_ thing, I guess.”

“I have a feeling she has an absolutely perfect grasp on your shining personality, Snow.”

Jon huffs, obviously torn between laughing and crying and _not doing either thing_ because others would notice.

“For now I’m not going to argue,” he says. “Tell me the truth. She didn’t yield, did she?”

“She did,” Theon says. He’s not _really_ lying.

“ _Theon_. I know her, I think. She wouldn’t yield.”

“Well, fine, I might have made sure she didn’t get hit thanks to one of our archers before telling her it would be a lot easier to keep her alive if she cooperated, but –”

“ _Why_ would you do that?” Jon immediately interrupts, and fine, he should have imagined, and Jon has literally no reason to assume he _would_ do such a thing for _him_ , but it still hurts, somewhat, even if he knows that if it does for him and if Jon looks so surprised… it’s _their_ fault because they never could get along regardless of how much Robb tried to make them.

“Because,” Theon hisses, “I’m – I’ve done horrible things when I was in Winterfell, and I killed people who didn’t deserve it and almost made Robb lose the war and I might’ve had if I had tried to keep that castle much further, and you’re still his brother and he wouldn’t want you to be miserable. And I know I can’t make up for what I did to him through _you_ , but let me delude myself into thinking I _can_. Now, are you going to see your wildling knight already or you’re going to discuss this whole thing with me much longer when neither of us want to?”

“My – my wildling knight?”

“Snow, seems obvious to me that if anyone wrote a song about the two of you, _she_ would be no bloody princess. So, are you done wasting time or not?”

Jon just _looks_ at him, but then he shakes his head and actually _properly_ smiles at him and his hand with the burn scars grips his shoulder.

“You know what,” he says, “for once, you can have the last word. Yes, I’m going. And – I don’t think I will ever say it again to _you_ , but thank you. If anyone comes to try and take your head before you take your vows, I’ll try to pay you back.”

“Jon, fuck, you don’t have to –”

“You’re _trying_. And – and you saved her. That’s plenty enough for me. All right?”

“… All right. Just get fucking lost,” he blurts, and Jon nods before saying he’ll go check on the prisoners to Noye and he disappears towards the dungeons.

_So far so good_ , Theon thinks as he watches the ruins of the stairs and the dead men outside.

He doesn’t know if they’ll survive the next wave, he doesn’t know if Robb will ever answer him, he doesn’t know if that dream was prophetic or not, after all. He doesn’t know if anyone will find out _he_ saved an enemy, in theory, he doesn’t know how Jon wants to handle this entire mess nor how he will manage to keep his woman on the side if they ever survive, _he_ knows nothing, except that he can’t regret a thing he’s done up to now.

No, not even if it was _for Jon Snow’s bloody sake_ , and he just hopes he’ll live to tell Robb one day.

For a moment, he lets himself imagine it, the two of them meeting again, maybe exchanging whispers in the darkness of his room back in Castle Black, with Robb actually hearing him out and Theon giving him proper apologies, and maybe they’d part – not friends, but not _enemies_ either, and he wouldn’t even protest if Jon joined because at this point maybe they _did_ bury their old problems, and maybe he will sleep decently again. It’s not that he won’t be haunted anymore by what he did to those poor children nor by the people who’d be alive if it wasn’t for _him_ , but maybe he’ll get over the worst of it.

After all, he has his entire life in front of him to atone for it, and if his heart was colder than ever when he left Winterfell to come here, now it’s not, and maybe he had lost his head but he’s started finding it all over again, and now he can only think that _he wants to live_ , same as everyone in this godforsaken place and most probably same as Jon and his wildling not-quite-a-princess.

This is not home, not yet.

But maybe, he thinks, glancing at the expanse of snow outside, towards where the sun is rising (and towards a land that isn’t bringing an army towards them, _for now_ ) he thinks that maybe it could be one, and not as horrible as he might have imagined.

If only they live.

But if they do – if they do, he thinks he’ll live and he might even be somewhat content with it.

Maybe taking those vows might even feel good, if he ever gets to it. But today, he wants to hope that he will.

He wants to hope for it, very much.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

III

 

 _Could things go any worse_ , Theon thinks to himself not long later, and doesn’t say out loud lest he wants to join Jon in the damned _solitary_ cells.

That said, he thinks he understands exactly _why_ and how Pyp and Grenn never had a good word for the infamous Ser Thorne – he’s been back for not even three days and Theon already wants to murder him, along with that other arse _Lord Slynt_ from King’s Landing.

And thanks to both of them, things are so fucked he doesn’t even know how to start listing how, especially for _him_ , though he supposes that Jon is having it worse – at least Theon’s not freezing inside a damned cell now, is he?

Still, what he knows is that Noye is dead, Jon got jailed for _desertion_ when he’s the only reason the Wall’s still standing, as much as Theon would like to not give him the whole merit, and he managed it while still barely being able to walk and _that_ was the thanks he got, the Lord Commander is _dead_ so Theon _still can’t take his vows_ , they have a bunch of dead men to bury and no one’s in charge unless you somehow think Maester Aemon is, but he doubts it can be counted.

Ah, and of course if Mance attacks again, they’re all _thoroughly_ fucked, because how in the seven hells are they even going to defend themselves? There’s no one here with some basic knowledge of military tactic who can lead a bunch of mostly inexperienced people through another assault – he knows _he_ couldn’t, Winterfell taught him at least that – and sure as the seven hells Thorne can’t do it, and Lord Slynt cannot either. And Jon’s damned wolf is nowhere to be seen, and Theon would really like to know _where_ he ended up since he’d be useful right now.

“To think I was thinking things were looking up after we burned the stairs,” Theon mutters as he slams his tankard on the wooden table.

“Too true,” Grenn agrees. “And if Ser Alliser thinks he can do what Jon did after Noye died, good luck to ‘im.”

“Shut up,” Pyp says, “you don’t want him to hear you questioning him openly.”

“Why do you even care? With these premises, we’re all going to die anyway.”

Theon _now_ understands _why_ that guy got nicknamed _Dolorus Edd_.

“Aren’t you gloomy,” he sighs. “Never mind that. There’s got to be _something_ that can be done.”

“Yeah, hope for that,” says that lad Satin who was under Jon’s direct command and who doesn’t look eight and ten, if you ask Theon. “Beats me, though. What I know is that there is no way he was _deserting_ when he was commanding us.”

“Aye, well,” Pyp sighs, “ _your_ opinion won’t be the one Ser Alliser listens to, that’s for fucking sure.”

Satin has obviously nothing to add and he gives them a sad nod before looking back down at his hands.

For a long moment, none of them speaks.

“If _all_ of us go talk to Slynt and Ser Alliser it’s not going to work, is it?” Grenn asks.

“Why are you even asking that if you know the answer?” Pyp answers. “Grenn, come on. He _hates_ us and at worst he throws us in the cells, too.”

“Fair,” Grenn admits, going back to his food with a dark expression clouding his face. “Gods, I wish Sam was here. He’d think of _something_.”

“Fair,” Pyp agrees, “if anyone had the brains to get him out of this mess, that’d be him. Too bad Sam’s not here.”

Theon is kind of curious about this Sam guy – first they couldn’t believe he killed a wight and now they wish he was here because, apparently, he’s the only one in here who could think of a way out of this? He shakes his head and goes back to his food, then he says he’ll check on the prisoners since he has rounds in the cells.

Then again, he _volunteered_ for it, also because – well, if Jon’s in solitary, he wants to make sure his damned woman doesn’t do anything stupid given the effort he went through to save her auburn-haired head.

He brings food to the others, and leaves her for last.

“There you are,” she greets him, “the only crow around who’s really not a crow.”

“How do you even know that?” He asks with resignation, handing her the last of the food he was bringing with.

“Other crows talk. And where in the world is Jon anyway? If he came here apologizin’ and everything just to disappear on me –”

He shakes his head. “Jailed for desertion, but in solitary.”

“… For _desertion_? But if he _left_ me to come back to this godforsaken castle!” She sounds outraged at the suggestion, and Theon can’t even disagree with her – she’s right.

“Yeah, well, the two _crows_ in charge apparently hated him from before, or at least one of ‘em anyway, and they couldn’t wait to frame him somehow.”

“What – he comes wit’ _us_ because he had to _spy_ on us for _you_ and then _you_ are locking him up?”

“Calm down,” Theon hisses, “ _I_ didn’t lock him up anywhere and I agree with you, for that bloody matter. It’s ridiculous and as much as we never were – close, I would be a lackwit if I actually agreed with them. Get your food and don’t do anything stupid, hopefully he’s not going to lose his head for it since no one agrees with it.”

She takes the food, but doesn’t even look at the bowl he hands her – she stares at _him_ instead.

“You’d better be right,” she says finally, and turns her back on him.

Fair enough. He doesn’t bother replying and goes back upstairs.

Where he gets the news.

\--

Not long later, Jon actually comes to _find him specifically_.

“Snow, you look like _utter shit_ ,” Theon tells him the moment he shows up. He’s thinner than he should be, he’s _paler_ than he should be, he’s still limping and he’s flexing his burned hand all over, so much and so fast it’s giving Theon a damned headache just by looking at it.

“Thank you,” Jon deadpans, “and it won’t matter in a short time.”

“It won’t – _what_?”

“They freed me because _Mance wants to talk_ ,” Jon snorts, “and they’re sending _me_ , but they want me to kill him to prove my loyalty.”

For a moment Theon thinks, _did they just lose their wits_ , but then he realizes at once it’s not just that.

Oh, no. Because if Jon actually _tries_ to kill Mance, never mind succeeding –

“You’re not leaving that camp alive if you kill him,” Theon hisses.

“Good thing that as much of an arse you are, you can be quick on the uptake,” Jon sighs. “I _know_. I know. And that’s why I need to ask you a favor. I wouldn’t, also because I said I would pay you one, but – no one else knows that she and I – well, no, _they_ know, Thorne and Slynt, but they just used it as leverage to force me to prove my loyalty. Of course.”

“Snow, just go ahead and _say_ it.”

Jon looks at him straight. “You saved her life once. If I die – well, _after_ I die, I guess – just – please try to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. I’d hate for her to join me.”

“Jon, are you asking me to make sure _your woman_ doesn’t die? Because I managed once, but –”

“ _Theon_ , I can barely stand, I haven’t eaten since they jailed me and I’m not going to survive the day, most likely. If you _can’t_ do it, please just bloody lie to me because I need to go to my death at least pretending to believe she’ll be fine.”

Seven hells, Theon thinks, looking into Jon’s wet, _pleading_ grey eyes, he’s never looked more different from his father than right now. Ned Stark surely never _pleaded_ with him, for anything. And thing is – for a moment he looks _terribly_ like Robb, even if they don’t look alike at all, and even if he wanted to lie, he just – he just couldn’t.

“Gods, Snow, I’m not _that_ much of a cruel man. Fine, I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t die, if she doesn’t do something very stupid and signs her own death sentence first, don’t worry.”

He risks putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder and he almost gasps when Jon’s opposite one clamps around his wrist, _hard_.

“Thank you,” Jon blurts, wiping at his eyes after squeezing his wrist. “Really.”

“It’s nothing,” Theon shrugs, and he doesn’t miss that when he leaves Jon’s shoulder be, Jon _grimaces_ as if he missed the touch.

 _What in the seven hells_.

“Tell her I’m sorry, if I don’t come back,” Jon says, adjusting his cloak.

“If she says that you knew nothing?”

Jon smiles, and it’s the saddest fucking smile he’s ever seen on _anyone_ ’s face in his entire life, and he wonders, _did I ever look like that when I was pretending_ –

“Tell her she was right about that all along,” Jon whispers softly, and then he heads out of Castle Black and towards the tunnel under the Wall that’ll bring him straight to the wildling camp.

If, two years ago, you had told Theon that he would stand here hoping that Jon would come back, he’d have laughed in your face.

Now, other than _that_ , as he watches his black cloak move far away into the surrounding whiteness, he can only think that he’s never seen anyone look lonelier in his entire damned life, and that includes his own reflection in the mirror the day he decided to take the black.

He just hopes that Jon doesn’t bloody die. It’s the last thing _anyone_ needs here.

\--

Jon _doesn’t_ die.

And in the span of two days, the Wall is brimming with Baratheon soldiers, Theon is _really_ hoping that Baratheon doesn’t decide to use _him_ as a bargaining chip or _something_ since he still hasn’t taken the bloody black, the infamous Sam Tarly shows up with a wildling woman carrying a baby with her and at least it seems like none of them are going to die right now because of the _wildlings_ , at least.

It could have been worse, Theon figures.

He also thinks he gets why everyone was _so_ surprised about Sam Tarly having _killed an Other_ – the boy certainly doesn’t look like a monster-slayer – but Theon’s not here to judge people and admittedly, when he catches him and Jon actually seeing each other again they had seemed both overjoyed, and he thought, _I had that with Robb and now I never will again_ , and he doesn’t feel like making fun of either of them.

He goes to the cells instead – he’s bringing the prisoners food regularly at this point because most people don’t want to have anything to do with wildlings and it’s a good way to get out of Stannis Baratheon’s way.

“Well,” he tells Ygritte, “he’s not dead.”

“Good,” she says as she takes the food.

“He made me swear I wouldn’t let you die if he did,” he adds, because he feels like she should know.

Ygritte just stares back at him. “Hells,” she mutters, “he’s just – never mind me. Is he ever coming back down here to _tell_ me any of these things?”

“I hope so,” Theon replies, “I’m tired of playing the raven in between the two of you. Then again, he can’t make anyone suspect anything since he barely avoided getting hanged, I guess. Anyway, if now they can elect the damned Lord Commander maybe we can sort you out for good.”

“Why, aren’t _you_ electing him, too?”

Theon laughs. “I haven’t taken my vows because I cannot if the Lord Commander is dead or, well, not _here_. I can’t do it until the election’s done with.”

“I still don’t get why a free man would _want_ to take those vows. Surely they didn’t help Jon any now, did they?”

Fair point. But.

“If I _don’t_ take them, _I_ lose my head. I did things I regretted and I betrayed a man I considered a brother, and _this_ place is the only way out of it I have if I don’t want to die. I know that you’re all way freer than we are, whatever that means to you, but on _this_ side of the Wall, to _some_ people, going here means keeping some sort of freedom. Maybe you can think about it while I try to _not_ get the king to kill me in the first place.”

“Please do,” she says, “now if _you_ stopped coming here, too, my life would be a lot more boring.”

“You wish,” Theon grins at her, and he thinks that he _does_ like her, and he can see why she’s _absolutely_ the kind of woman Snow would have gone for – she definitely would get him to stop fucking brooding, for one.

He goes back upstairs.

Just to find himself in front of Pyp, who informs him that King Stannis wants to _see him_ as soon as possible, and that was just after he summoned _Jon_ for some reason.

Well then, Theon thinks, _now_ it’s the time to try and save his own neck, because he _highly_ doubts Stannis Baratheon _wouldn’t_ be above killing him to make a point about whatever war he’s waging against Robb.

Gods, what if he wants an alliance with Robb and his head might be the price for it?

In that case – _in that case_ , he thinks, _maybe I wouldn’t rue losing it so much_. But he can’t know that, can he?

\--

“Lord Greyjoy,” the king tells him as soon as Theon’s brought up on the Wall’s ramparts. He’s standing there, straight as iron, and his tone was carefully flat – Theon can’t understand if there was any specific intention behind it.

“Your Grace,” Theon replies, bowing – better to be more cautious than none.

“I’ve been told that you are… making yourself useful.”

“I am trying, Your Grace.” Theon has no idea of _why_ Stannis Baratheon would ask _that_ , but he’s not going to probe. He says nothing else and tries to hold the other man’s icy stare, until the man takes a step toward him.

“And I see that you have _not_ taken the black yet, my lord.”

“I cannot as long as a Lord Commander isn’t elected, I’m afraid.”

“Or you would have already done it. I can hear that.”

“… Well, yes. But that’s why I came here in the first place, Your Grace.”

“I could imagine that, given your wrongdoings. I also imagine that you have _not_ heard of how Robb Stark’s war is waging, have you? Or of how your _father’_ s is waging.”

Suddenly, Theon feels cold sweat run through his back – the fact that Stannis is keeping his voice _this_ flat and that he’s not betraying any emotion isn’t helping at all.

“I – I am afraid that we were too busy with the wildlings to worry about the ravens. Should I know?”

At that, Stannis’s lips quirk up in the hint of a grin. A very vague hint.

“I had in mind,” Stannis says, “of trying and see if an alliance was still possible.” His teeth are gritting. “After Blackwater, as my Hand pointed out, I cannot afford more losses. Given that he still has the North with him, as you failed your mission, I suppose.”

“I – that was my own wrongdoing,” Theon admits.

“I had in mind, knowing that you were here and that you _couldn’t_ have taken your vows, to see if offering him your head might convince him to stop with this independent North folly and bend the knee. _However_ , I see there are two things you obviously don’t know.”

For a moment, he says nothing.

Then –

“Your father is dead, Greyjoy.”

For a moment, Theon can’t quite process that information.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s _dead_. He fell from Pyke’s ramparts during a rainy night, or so it seems. Your sister immediately left the North to go back to the islands to discuss the succession, and so did your uncle, as everyone thinks you _took the black_ and therefore are _not_ the designated heir. On the other side…”

Stannis breaks eye contact with him and produces a letter from his pocket.

Theon almost wants to faint the moment he recognizes the Stark seal.

“The maester received this today,” Stannis says. “Of course, I read it.”

 _Of course he did_.

“But it was for you. And I think you should read it.”

Theon nods and takes the letter, opening it with shaking hands. It’s Robb’s handwriting.

He reads it.

 

_Theon,_

 

_I cannot possibly explain everything with one raven, and I sincerely hope that whatever battle you had to face has spared you so that you might read this._

_The Freys asked for a reparative marriage in order to make up for the fact that I didn’t keep my word and wedded Lady Jeyne. And they deemed my uncle a suitable enough replacement. However, as I said in my previous letter, I was addressing some troubling matters that had to do with the Boltons, and knowing that Snow was in Winterfell without me knowing and that he suggested you to pretend you had killed my brothers certainly was one of them, and when the proposal turned out to be a marriage I recalled that you dreamt of a wedding feast. To make things short, I had matters investigated and it turned out that Lord Walder was in league with Tywin Lannister, that Bolton was planning to turn his cloak and that the plan was to have me, my mother and my army slaughtered at the Twins. Of course it hasn’t come to pass and I am dealing with it now, but I just wanted you to know, I might have fallen for it if you hadn’t warned me. And I don’t know if your dream was prophetic or not, but it did save my life nonetheless._

_With this in mind, I cannot honestly hold any ill will towards you. If you still wish to take the black, of course it’s your prerogative. But if you were planning because it was your only way out of avoiding death, I want you to know that I will never ask for your head and never would, and when we see each other again, if we do, I would look forward to at least talk about where things went wrong._

 

_Robb_

 

Oh.

_Oh._

He thinks he wants to vomit just at the prospect of _having dreamt something that was actually about to bloody happen_ , but then Stannis clears his throat and Theon has to look up towards him again.

“Taking _that_ into account,” he says, “I think I have an offer for you, _Lord Greyjoy_.”

“An – offer?”

“Robb Stark doesn’t want your head. You are your father’s heir. You don’t _have_ to be here. If you bend the knee, I will _personally_ sail you to the Iron Islands and put you on that Seastone chair of yours – I do _not_ need the Ironborn to deal with on top of _everything else_.”

For a moment, Theon feels like fainting.

“I – Your Grace, are you offering me –”

“Your bloody crown, for what it’s worth.”

Of course he’d summon him.

Six moons ago, before he took Winterfell, before he realized the Wall was the only way out, he would have said yes without even thinking.

But _now_ –

“May – may I think on it for a few days, Your Grace?”

At _that_ , Stannis seems almost surprised. “Think on it? I hadn’t thought you would.”

“I – things happened when I took Winterfell and since I went back to Pyke. Which – changed my opinion on a few matters. If I may, I would like to consider it more closely.”

Stannis stares at him, still perplexed, but then he _stops_ gritting his teeth, thank the gods.

“Very well. I imagine none of us is going anywhere until the Lord Commander is elected, so I suppose a few more days won’t change nothing. But do let me know. I cannot wait forever.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.”

He bows and excuses himself, and stumbles down the stairs, not even processing the entire damned thing.

He just was offered his father’s crown, which he sacrificed _pretty much everything for_ and that he thought was out of his reach forever, and he only has to bend the knee to do it.

It shouldn’t be a hard question.

It really _shouldn’t be_.

Except that –

 _Except that_ , what was the first thing his father berated him for, or anyway among the first?

 _He mocked him for not having taken the iron price and wearing too fine clothes_.

If _Stannis_ were to put him on the throne, he would be pretty much imposing him on the Ironborn, never mind that he’s absolutely sure that _everyone_ on the islands must have known that his sister was Balon’s preferred choice, not _him_. And as far as the Ironborn are concerned, he spectacularly failed his stint in Winterfell, got a number of them killed for nothing, didn’t follow orders and – well. It’s been long enough that he can admit it. They had no esteem for him, and he didn’t gain their respect, and he sure as the seven hells would lose what little they still had for him, _if_ they still had any, if he was given that crown by someone else.

That they rebelled against.

 _No_ , he thinks, _if I do that, they will accept it until Stannis is a danger, and then I’d be dead in the span of a moon at most_. Unless he proved himself capable of leading them, but as much as it hurts him to admit it, he couldn’t even lead his men _in Winterfell_ , or while raiding. _How_ in the seven hells he would lead _an entire kingdom_ without help and without anyone trusting him to do it, and _doing Stannis’s bidding_ on top of that?

This, while hoping that Robb wouldn’t fight against Stannis, because then Theon would have to fight _him_.

And he can’t – no.

He _couldn’t_.

He couldn’t, and on one side he has _that_ , on the other –

On the other, this place is forgotten by most of the realm, it’s cold, it’s _hard_ and the work isn’t the kind that gets any thanks from anyone.

But.

But it’s close to Winterfell, and if Robb ever came back he could go back there and make amends properly and _maybe_ they could see each other once in a while, if it went well.

But, for maybe the first time in his life he’s in a place where he’s not automatically seen as a stranger or _not good enough_ , and where his skills are actually _very_ valued, and where he has made maybe a few friends, and where he’s not living with a threat hanging over his head and where he has done _nothing_ yet that has made people distrust him, and where even if he’s not _leading_ , he’s useful and he still could raise in the ranks, if not to the top.

He has – he has something _good_ going on here, as much as it’s not ideal. Does he really want to trade it with a crown that’s only ruined him, up until now?

He’s maybe the most surprised person to think that maybe, maybe he _doesn’t_.

He thinks about it all the way down to the ground and as he walks towards the yard, where he sees Jon sparring with some other crow whose name he can’t remember for the life of him – right. Since he was left free, he’s been in the yard _all the time_ and he hasn’t even taken part in the preparations going on for the Lord Commander’s election, _why_ , since he _could_ vote in it?

Theon is about to leave him to it –

That is, until he notices that the fight is getting way too violent for a spar, and at some point whoever the other man is manages to hit Jon in the helm’s side, right on the temple, without disarming him, and Theon stands there for a moment, wondering if he should step in and tell them to quit it –

Except that then Jon’s hand grips the hilt tighter and a moment later he’s all over the other man, hitting his shield so hard he smashes the right part of it, and at that point his adversary yields but Jon keeps on hitting him again, and _again_ , as if he’s not listening or hearing at all, and gods, is he going to fucking _kill him_ or what?

Theon shakes his head, makes his way past everyone else, grabs Jon by the arm and forcefully drags him away from the other man along with two others who see their chance, and yanks his helm out of his head.

The gash on Jon’s temple is bleeding and his eyes look – like he’s _there_ but not _with them_ , and whatever’s going on it’s fucking _creepy_ , damn –

“Snow,” he shouts, “he _yielded_ , calm down already,” he says, in the exact same tone he’d use in Winterfell, and at that point Jon blinks and his eyes clear, and he looks in horror at the scene in front of him.

“What –” He starts. “I didn’t realize – Emmett, I’m _sorry_ , I –”

“Lord Snow, was there some part of _yield_ you didn’t comprehend?” The man says as he takes his helm off with a groan, but he doesn’t sound angry. Good thing that. “Warrior defend me, now I know how the Halfhand felt,” he mutters, and Jon quite literally _blanches_ at that. He wrenches free of Theon’s grasp and heads for the armory.

Theon _should_ leave him alone.

But out of everything Jon’s always been, full to the bring with _anger_ never was any of them and Theon doesn’t like any of this.

“I will check on him,” he mutters, and follows him there, to find him running towards the bathhouse – he grabs his arm and forces him to stop just before he can head downstairs.

“Jon, _what_ in the seven hells is wrong with you?”

“Theon, just leave me –”

“ _Jon_ , for – when I got that helm off you, you were looking _strange_. And I don’t remember you prone to rage fits.”

_Your brother was once in a while, when he couldn’t pretend to be listening to everyone equally anymore or when he had harbored it for a while without telling, but never you._

“I – it wasn’t – it was nothing.”

“Please, that was a lie if I ever heard it.”

“Why would you even _care_?”

“Have you even heard yourself? Jon, for – we’re stuck here for better or worse, I _did_ save your woman’s life and believe me, she’s not happy that you’ve been avoiding her even if she understands why, I don’t think it’s worth it to keep on playing games and you’re obviously _not_ all right and I’m the only one around to hear it, so how about you bloody tell me?”

For a moment, Jon _does_ look like he wants to argue.

Then –

Then his shoulders slump and he looks like all the will to do it has been drained out of him at once.

“Stannis made me an offer,” he says weakly.

“Interesting, he made one to me as well.”

“ _What_?”

“Never mind. You say first. So?”

“He wants me to bend the knee. If I do, he’d free me of my vows and send me back to Robb as an _envoy_ along with Ygritte, since at that point I would be – well, _free_. Obviously, I should convince him to bend the knee as well, and at that point he would _legitimize me_ as a reward or something of the kind whether Robb agrees with it or not.”

“He would,” Theon says at once. “He _did_ talk about sending for you.”

“Never mind that. I think he just wants to put me in a position where if Robb says no, _he_ has a Stark who could claim Winterfell for _him_. The way Lady Catelyn always feared,” Jon snorts. “And I told him I needed to take some time to think about it even if I _don’t_ want to. I don’t want to be – to be what she thought I might.”

“Why didn’t you tell him _no_ at once, then?”

Jon sends him the most unimpressed look that he could muster, probably. “What part of _he would let me leave here with the woman I love_ did you miss?”

“… You _really_ do love her, don’t you?” Theon asks, feeling almost envious. He doubts it’s a thing that might ever happen to _him_.

“And what has Stannis asked _you_?”

Fair enough. “That I bend the knee and get my father’s crown in exchange.”

“… Wasn’t that what you wanted in the first place?”

Theon _has_ to laugh. “Yes, and in order to get it I ruined my life, betrayed Robb, got an amount of innocent deaths on my conscience that I would rather have spared myself and it was all for bloody nothing anyway, and do you think my fellow countrymen would appreciate it? The more I think about it, the worst of an idea it seems. But I took some time to think about it just in case.”

Jon _stares_ at him, then. “Well, put it like _that_ , it makes sense.”

“Yes, and _what was up with you_ anyway?”

“I don’t –”

“Jon. You were _pounding_ that man into the dirt when he yielded and whatever else I ever thought of you, _that’s not you_. What happened? If you don’t want to tell me, tell _someone else_ , but –”

“I thought I was back in Winterfell,” Jon cuts him short.

“What?”

“I thought I was in Winterfell, _years_ ago. At some point – I was sparring with Robb, we were children, we were pretending to be someone new every day, at some point I said that I was going to be Lord of Winterfell, he said I couldn’t be and his mother said so, and he most probably didn’t realize that it _did_ – make me feel horrible. When he hit me, I just – I thought I was there. It wasn’t nice. And I was angry then and I apparently am _angry_ now, and – I don’t know, all right? I don’t know. I thought I took a good decision when I came here and nothing turned out the way I thought it would and – I don’t know.” His voice gets so small as he goes on, Theon can barely hear the last couple of words. And he feels horrified because as he looks at Jon’s back – he’s holding himself so tight it looks like he might snap – and at his gray, _lost_ eyes that look both angry _and_ sad, his first instinct is that he wants to give the idiot a hug and that’s _not_ the kind of instinct he has towards bloody Jon Snow, and he should tell him to just go and talk to Ygritte already, _damn him_.

He puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder instead.

“Snow, for – take a bath and go to the cells.”

“I can’t –”

“Everyone’s busy with the Lord Commander’s election and if you don’t plan to be there for it then no one’s going to know. Go. You need to talk to her and you aren’t all right, and fuck if I don’t know _that_. Robb is the best person I know but he _does_ have a problem with saying unnecessarily mean things that he doesn’t even _mean_ himself, and he would have been overjoyed if you deserted for his cause. Really. And gods, do _something_ that’s not fighting. It’s not doing you any good.”

“What else am I even supposed to do? I can go to the cells as long as I like, but I can’t _keep_ her the way Sam can’t keep _his_ wildling girl, and what’s the point in tormenting myself?”

“Snow, just take that damned bath and do it before _I_ start telling you that you know nothing. And by the way, I also was angry a _lot_ when I got here. It’s _normal_. It doesn’t mean that suddenly you’re not worthy of your father’s name anymore.”

At that, Jon’s eyes turn surprised and Theon just wants to say, _I knew that_.

“How –”

“Jon, gods, do you think that you _haven’t_ made clear that if there’s _one_ thing you’ve always tried to do all your damned life was to make sure no one could say you weren’t _at least_ as honorable as Lord Stark? If not _more_? I lived with you for ten bloody years, I _know_ that. Stop being so hard on yourself, all right?”

For a moment, they just look at each other.

“What if I don’t know how to do that?” Jon asks, and gods, _Theon never asked for for this_. How does he do it? This is _Robb_ ’s job, not _his_.

And gods, but he thinks he _can_ see Ygritte’s point when she says that she doesn’t see how volunteering for _this_ job might look appealing.

“You’ll learn,” Theon cuts him short. “If I could learn that everything I thought about my situation with my family for ten years was wrong and I could learn to deal with it, you can do that, too. Take that bath. And talk to her, all right?”

“All – all right,” Jon sighs, and Theon moves his hand away. “And thank you, for what it’s worth,” Jon adds, quietly, and then walks back down the stairs before Theon can answer him.

Gods. Snow thanked him more than once in the span of two weeks. The end of the world might be really night, Theon thinks, and heads back to the yard.

To find himself in front of Sam Tarly.

“Can I help you?” He asks.

“Actually, _yes_. Maester Aemon needs help when it comes to the counting of the votes and such. I’m doing that because I can read and write and so on, but you can do the same, and – and you aren’t one of us, _technically_ , so you have no stakes in this, and people said it was better that _you_ helped supervise it for that reason.”

“ _What_? Who said that?”

“Some of the men. And Thorne and Slynt, as well.”

 _What in the seven hells_ , Theon thinks, but it’s not as if he has any different plans now, has he?

“Fine,” he says. “How does this work?”

\--

Eight days later, Sam sighs as he puts down the last name in his tally. “And, five for three-finger Hobb. Who are these people who keep on voting for him, anyway?”

“No idea, but if they want him out of the kitchen, they have a point,” Theon replies, checking over his own tally. “Sure as the seven hells _I_ could do a better job than he does.” Or better, he’s never set foot in a kitchen but he’s seen Kyra cook enough times to know he could cook a more decent stew than Hobb. “Anyway, I have one hundred and twenty-seven for Slynt and one hundred and sixty-eight for Pyke.”

“So, nothing yet,” Aemon states with a long sigh. “The king won’t like this.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“He was here before,” Aemon explains. “You missed because you were counting. He said that he cannot possibly wait this long for a decision so either we are quick to pick someone or _he_ is picking for us.”

“Isn’t that… not how it’s supposed to work?” Theon asks.

“It’s _not_ ,” Aemon agrees. “But a winner needs two thirds of the votes and now that Marsh has ceded for Slynt, he’s closer than before. A _lot_ closer.”

“Gods,” Sam says, “ _not_ Slynt.”

“Hells, no,” Theon agrees. “I mean, it’s not that I can weigh in, but that arse has Cersei Lannister written all over his face. Or _Tywin_ Lannister, whoever it is.”

“Well, we have a few hours before the next choosing. Admittedly, there have been choosing that lasted longer than this – once, it took almost two years. People will come to their decision in their own time. However, mayhaps if _someone_ explained both Pyke and Mallister that they might be more similar than they think, _mayhaps_ things would change. Anyhow, I am a maester and I certainly cannot favor one candidate over the other, so it could not be me, as much as I wish it could.”

“Maester Aemon,” Sam asks, “what – do you mean that – well, _we_ are not maesters, and he’s not even a recruit, but – _I_ or _he_ should do something about this?”

“I don’t know,” Aemon smiles. “ _Could_ you? And now it’s late, and I am an old man. I will leave you to it.”

He leaves, and Theon is left looking at Sam and mulling over the maester’s words. “Did he just imply that _you_ should try to move this situation?”

“I – I think he did,” Sam stammers. “And gods, I – what does he even want me to do? Well, fine, a candidate needs two thirds of the votes, so if either Pyke or Ser Mallister ceded for the other we would be set, and they are both good choices, but none of them seems to want to, so – oh, _gods_ , he wants me to convince one of them to cede for the other, doesn’t he?”

Theon shrugs. “Well, your friends were sure that if _you_ were here when Slynt and Thorne jailed Snow for desertion, _you_ could have found a way to break him out. Seems to me like the maester has an equally high opinion of your wits, Tarly.”

“Gods, _gods_ , why _me_ , I never – I cannot even begin to think about talking to Pyke, he’d _murder_ me –”

“You killed a wight and you’re fearing an Ironborn bastard?”

“I didn’t do that on _purpose_ ,” Sam sighs. “Well, no, I _did_ , but – never mind. I suppose I will have to, but –”

“Tarly, we have how long before the next voting, half a day? Go talk to Mallister, I’ll talk to Pyke. If I survived my bloody father I sure as the seven hells can survive _him_.”

“Your – your father?”

What – why does Tarly seem _interested_?

Theon shrugs. “I was Ned Stark’s hostage. Robb sent me back to treat with him. I thought he would be glad to see his firstborn after ten years. Turns out he had – well. That he favored my sister as his heir and he didn’t think too highly of me. To put it mildly. Honest, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him, so. That’s it.”

Tarly sends him a sympathetic look. “Uh, well, me, too.”

“Wait, how?”

“My father thought my brother more suited to inherit Horn Hill. And – it’s a long story, but to cut it short he straight-up told me that if I didn’t take the black willingly I was likely to, uh, lose my life in an accident or something equally charitable.”

_What –_

“Wait, he said he would _kill_ you if you didn’t get out of your brother’s way?”

“Pretty much,” Sam sighs. “I can understand it if you didn’t like yours, either.”

Theon can imagine that. He can _really_ imagine that.

“Well, you’re around here slaying wights, I’m sure you’re proving him wrong,” he says awkwardly, because he _has_ to say something. “And just – go talk to Mallister. I’ll talk to Pyke. We’re meeting here again in an hour or so, all right?”

“All – all right. Good luck,” Tarly – _Sam_ – tells him gratefully before heading out of the room.

Theon glances at the amount of tokens he counted, feeling a headache coming up, and leaves the room as well. He needs to find his fellow Ironborn already.

\--

“Look at _that_ ,” Cotter Pyke says the moment Theon shows up in front of him. “The last thing I’d have imagined would have been to find myself serving with _my king’s son_. Though I suppose he’s no more now, is he?”

Theon, who knows that even too well, settles on trying to sound as neutral as possible about the entire matter. He looks at the other ironborn, noticing that even if no one would ever call him handsome he’s lean and wiry and obviously a _fighter_ , and someone who certainly knows his mind. Which means that convincing him to _change_ it might be hard, but he hasn’t tried yet and there’s no point in assuming he will fail.

“No, he’s not. And I am afraid that at this point there would have been no love lost in between the two of us. Anyhow, it’s – good to see that I’m not the only Ironborn around.”

“That you aren’t,” Pyke agrees. “And from what I hear, it’s a waste you’re here.”

“From _what you hear_?”

Pyke shrugs. “News _do_ arrive at Eastwatch, don’t you know? Seems like you’ve done well during that battle against the wildlings and that you’re pulling your weight, and one can’t see from the way you’re _standing_ that you’re a rare find in between you and half of the people ‘round here. Anyhow, I suppose you aren’t here to talk about the ocean in front of Pyke’s shores. What do you want? Did the maester send you?

… Well, he goes straight to the point, doesn’t he?

“Whether the maester sent me, it matters not. What matters is the result of the last choosing.”

“I was there for it, Greyjoy. Tell what you came here for.”

“If you were there for it, then you know that Slynt is gaining ground and that unless either you or Mallister take a step back, you will not reach a verdict and you might get Slynt appointed anyway because the king wants to do the job himself if you take more than three more days to pick a decision.”

“I know that, too.”

“Then – well, would you consider supporting Mallister?”

Pyke _laughs_. Openly. And loudly.

“I’m _not_ kneeling to kiss the helm of Mallister’s cloak. And the maester is wasting his breath and everyone’s time if he was hoping that anyone might convince me. If any out of the two of us withdraws it should be _him –_ he’s too old for this bloody job. If we choose him, we’ll be back choosing another in a year.”

“He’s old,” Theon concedes, “but he looks well ex-experienced.”

“Yes, maybe at writing letters, _planning_ and sitting in his tower. You don’t fight the Others writing them letters. A knight, fine, but not a warrior, and with bloody kings around here, we need a fighter. Do you see him standing up to Stannis Baratheon and his red whore? I don’t. And I am not going to support him. Mind that, I don’t want this bloody job, I like being on a deck as you should know, as a fellow ironborn, and I want to be near the sea, and that’s not where Castle Black is. But if _Mallister_ is the best option, I’ll be buggered with your own bloody sword if I let him be Lord Commander. Was that clear?”

“Fair,” Theon agrees. “You make a valid point.”

“You tried,” Pyke tells him, “you do have guts, for what it’s worth.”

“Thank you,” Theon answers him, not faking it. “Then may the best man win. But, just in case,” he presses on, some part of him suggesting he _might_ want to ask this question even if it might bring to nothing, “would you support _someone else_ that’s not Mallister?”

“Marsh and Othell are worthless, but they did take a step back anyhow, so that’s moot. Slynt’s men like him, and maybe it would be worth it to see if it’d make Stannis gag, but there’s King’s Landing written all over him, and I’m not going to stand for that, either. Who should I pick then, Hobb? Edd? I doubt _you_ will going to boil our mutton if Hobb gets picked. No, none of them. And may the best man win,” Pyke agrees, and Theon goes back to Castle Black hoping that Sam had better luck.

\--

“He said no,” Sam sighs. “He was very courteous about it, but he said no.”

“Well,” Theon echoes, “Pyke was _not_ too courteous about it, but he said no regardless.”

“… Excellent. _Excellent_. We’ll end up with Slynt anyway at this point. Gods, this is just – there has to be a way out, there _has_ to –” Sam trails away, and then he stops at once. “Oh.” He says. “ _Oh_. Maybe – maybe there is a way out.”

“Do share,” Theon prompts him.

“I mean, they wouldn’t step back _for each other_. But would they for someone else entirely?”

“Someone else? Pyke did say he would, admittedly, but he wasn’t too fond of the rest of the candidates. He didn’t see another choice –” Theon starts, and then he _sees_. “Tarly,” he hisses, “are you seriously planning on getting _Jon_ elected Lord Commander?”

Sam shrugs, looking almost sheepish, but if you stare into his eyes, it’s obvious he’s _determined_.

“Do you see any better option?” He whispers. “He’s young and fit. He’s… as highborn as it gets around here anyway, for a bastard. He has the skills. He can fight. He held the Wall during that battle, unless everyone is lying –”

“No one is,” Theon confirms.

“Most people like him, everyone knows that Mormont was grooming him to possibly succeed him. They _might_.”

Theon nods – the proposal _does_ make sense and Sam is right, for all the right reasons, but –

“Fair, but I _did_ hear a few people wondering whether he was getting too close to the wildlings, and in between Thorne and Slynt they _did_ try to make it look as if he _did_ defect.”

“Could it be enough to create issues?”

Gods, _is he seriously helping Jon’s best friend or whatever he is to him plan a way to maneuver the elections so that Jon gets elected Lord Commander_?

“I don’t know, but we’ve been here for _days_ and your friends haven’t, outside of the voting. And we have two more before Stannis imposes his decision. Just – find them and come to my room, we need to discuss this properly.”

Sam nods, agreeing, and runs out of the room.

Theon heads downstairs to his.

\--

Not one hour later, the small room is indeed cramped – in between him, Sam, Pyp, Grenn, Satin and Dolorus Edd, it’s more people than it was built to hold.

“Sam,” Grenn whispers as soon as Sam has laid down the plan, “are you saying you need our help to get _Jon_ elected?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sam replies.

“Gods,” Pyp grins, “I _knew_ that if anyone could find a way out of this mess it’d be you, _Slayer_.”

“I didn’t slay – never mind. Thank you, but if we want this to work, we need to act quickly.”

“Do we just put his name forward at the next turn?” Grenn asks.

“No,” Theon says, “first we need to make sure Pyke and Mallister agree on stepping back in his favor. But more than that – how are the people feeling about Jon, _period_? I haven’t been out in days, no thanks to you, Tarly.”

Dolorus Edd lets out a long, long sigh. “Most people like him, they _always_ did. But – the ones who were voting for Ser Alliser first and Slynt later, might’ve been spreading rumors that Jon’s _talking to the king_ and that if he goes to the cells once in a while to talk to the wildlings it’s because he’s still one of them or something, and it’s _not_ helping.”

“Hells,” Theon sighs, “let me guess, it’s about the wildling woman, is it?”

“… That, too,” Edd admits. “But people are more worried about – well, everyone here _doesn’t_ keep his vows, with the brothel nearby and all. _Some_ of us don’t,” he scoffs, “but the problem isn’t that he might’ve broken his vows with her. The problem is that he might _be still doing it_.”

Which makes sense, Theon figures. “So, if people were sure he _wasn’t_ breaking his vows with a wildling, those rumors would seem a lot less likely to be true?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Edd replies. “Why’s that?”

Theon grins. It’s a sad grin. “Tarly, you talk to Pyke and Mallister. _I_ can deal with that. Everyone else, just try to sell his case and _please_ warn him about what I might be about to do. Though – just warn him about the part where I’m trying to make sure people _don’t_ think he’s breaking his vows.”

“Why?” Grenn asks. “Shouldn’t he –”

“No,” Sam says, “he’s right. It’s better if he doesn’t put forward his own name. Edd, maybe you might put it forward?”

“I could. But not the next time?”

“No,” Sam says. “No, the one _after_ that, if it’s enough for Theon to do whatever he needs to. By the way, _what_ do you want to do?”

Theon snorts. “What is the difference in between _you_ all and me?”

“Oh,” Pyp says, “fuck me, you haven’t taken your vows because you _can’t_ unless the Lord Commander is here.”

“Yes. And _who_ took the girl prisoner?” Theon grins.

“You,” Grenn says, and then his eyes light up in understatement. “You mean that –”

“According to _their_ own law, the wildlings’s, I mean, I actually should have some right on her or something. So, if everyone thinks _I_ ’m the one she’s sleeping with, they won’t think it’s _Jon_ , right?”

“You’re a bloody genius,” Pyp says, clapping him on the shoulder.

 _Hard_.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” Theon blurts. “Meanwhile, you three just – spread some rumors helping me out, won’t you?”

“Oh, _that_ is doable,” Satin says, looking like someone who knows more than enough about the art of spreading rumors. Then again, if he worked in a _brothel_ , he might.

“Maybe Satin should start right now,” Sam says, “and you two should warn Jon that it’s all a ruse.”

“Right, I don’t need him to murder me for it,” Theon mutters.

“Fine. Satin and I are going, then. Gods, _who_ even put my name forward,” Edd sighs, leaving the room. Fine enough. Except that –

“Wait,” Theon says before either Pyp or Grenn can leave, “ _how much_ did Jon tell you about – her?”

“The wildling woman?” Pyp grins. “ _Nothing_ , because he looks guilty as the seven hells at the first mention.”

“But it’s obvious that he cares for her,” Grenn adds. “Nothin’ wrong about that, I suppose. _No one_ here keeps his vows anyway.”

“Right,” Theon says. “Right. Very well. I am going to put on a hopefully very good mummer’s farce now. As in, going to the cells, bringing her out and making sure _everyone_ knows that I want to bed her. You’re going to tell Snow that it’s a ruse. _Then_ you’ll send him over to my room because I have a feeling those two need to talk and it won’t happen in the cells. Can you do that?”

“We’re his _friends_ , why _wouldn’t_ we?” Pyp winks at Grenn. “Come on, we need to go and pay Lord Snow a favor or ten.”

“Does that mean that then he might owe us?”

“I have a feeling,” Pyp confirms, and then slips out of the room.

“Are you sure about this?” Sam asks, quietly.

“Hell, _no_ , but it’s a better plan than nothing. Go talk to those two, I’ll go tame myself a wilding woman,” he laughs, already knowing that he’d be a proper fool if he thought he _could_ tame _that_ specific wildling woman. Ygritte is _definitely_ the kind that you only tame if _she_ lets you for how long she wants you to, but it’s not as if _everyone else_ is aware of _that_.

\--

He’s _not_ surprised that when he asks for the keys to Ygritte’s cell, he’s not denied them – Thorne is too busy selling Slynt’s cause and the turnkey doesn’t see anything wrong in his reasoning when he says that since _he_ caught her, he might as well make use of her.

“What in the seven hells –” She says as he drags her out, heading for the bathhouse – she definitely needs to wash same as _he_ does.

“Do you want to have a chance to at least talk to Snow without anyone else getting in between _and_ also help us all out?”

“Maybe I do,” she replies, the aggressiveness in her tone dropping a bit. “An’ what does it have to do with _this_?”

“We’re taking a damn bath _and_ then I’m going to explain you and if you know what’s good for you, you’re playing along with it.”

“ _I_ do know what’s good for me, thank you.”

“Good, then you will agree. Come on, over here.”

Thankfully the bathhouse is empty – he locks the door and turns in time to see her shedding the last of her clothes and stepping inside one of the tubs. She outright _moans_ as her skin touches the hot water and he does the same quickly in the tub next to hers, biting his tongue so that he _doesn’t_ follow her example.

“So,” she says, “ _Theon Greyjoy_ , will you explain me already what in the seven hells this is all about?”

He sighs. “Keep your voice down. You know that we’re electing the Lord Commander. Well, _they_ are.”

“As if anyone wasn’t makin’ it clear. Aye, Jon told me. So?”

“ _So_ , one candidate is the one who wanted to hang him and he’s gaining ground and the rest of the vote is split in two and neither candidate will support _the other_. But – me and Snow’s friends and a few others, we supposed that maybe they would support _your man_ , instead.”

“Are you conspirin’ to –”

“We _might_ , but from what I hear, one reason people might not trust him is that they think he might care for _you_ more than his vows.”

“He did that so much that he _left_ –”

“Well, _they_ don’t know that, not the way Slynt is spinning it. _So_ , after we’re both clean, we’re putting on new clothes, you are coming with me to the yard, we’re going to make _very_ clear that since _you_ are my prisoner if there’s anyone in this entire place you’re bedding that’s _me_ and we’re going upstairs hoping that people understand what they should. _And_ then if his friends haven’t mucked it up, Snow’s coming up without getting noticed and you two can _talk_ and whatever while I go make things ready for the next round of voting, which will end up the same way, and _then_ we’re putting forth his name on the next day. Understood?”

Her wide blue eyes are fixed on his as she nods, slowly. “Understood,” she says. “So what you mean is, I’ve got to pretend _you_ stole me. Fair ‘nough. And _why_ are you doin’ all of this for _him_ anyway?”

“Long story,” he cuts short, not feeling like he wants to answer her _right now_. Jon can fill her in anyway. “So, will you play along? Because I’d rather do this with you willing.”

She smirks. “You know nothing if you think I won’t. It’s a good plan. Fine, _Theon Greyjoy_ , I will pretend you stole me. You’d better be _good_ , though.”

Then she proceeds on scrubbing her bright, red hair and Theon goes back to worrying about his own legs.

Good enough.

\--

He puts back on his old clothes – they’re still clean enough – and finds her some black garb in the pile of washed clothing in the corner, he doubts anyone will come reclaiming it _right now_. Her old furs are completely done for.

“Here,” he sighs, throwing the clothing in her direction as she dries off with one of the towels and trying to _not_ look too much at her chest or naked legs, even if it’s _hard_ – he hasn’t been with anyone since – _since Kyra, and how horribly I treated her_ – and a man has needs.

Gods, Snow better be damn grateful, he thinks as Ygritte puts on the clothes. They’re a bit large of her, but they’ll do.

He waits for her to put on her boots.

“Are you done?” He asks.

“I’m done,” she answers.

“Good. Let’s get over this already, shall we?” He grabs her elbow and drags her upstairs, out of the bathhouse and into the yard.

“Look at that,” Grenn shouts, and good thing that he had already been planted there. “Greyjoy, are you claiming your spoils or what?”

Theon can see that she’s about to tell Grenn to go fuck himself. He grabs her arm _tighter_.

“It was time,” Theon shouts back. “And there has to be an advantage over you poor bastards, right? Next time don’t take your vows so fast.” He grins, and he waits for a moment, until he’s sure that the entire yard is looking at him. _Good_ , he thinks as most people turn their attention on him.

Then he grabs her by the back of the neck and kisses her, not even trying to be gallant or anything of the kind because that _would not work_ , but he’s pleasurably surprised when she kisses back _angrily_ , and so he grabs her around the waist with _more_ strength, except that he can feel that she relents because she was _playing along_.

 _She could have knocked me over_ , he realizes, and he wishes it hadn’t gone straight to his cock, but never mind _that_.

“Anyone has a problem with it?” He asks as he grabs her by the neck and breaks the kiss forcefully.

Most people shake their head. He hears someone lamenting that he’s lucky he _hasn’t_ taken his vows yet.

“Well, then I’m going to make good use of my spoils before we vote again. _My lady_ ,” he says mockingly, and she sends him a look that was _scalding_ under those blue eyes, and drags her away from the yard and up to his room, pushing her inside and slamming the door behind him.

“Your _spoils_ ,” she huffs. “You’re a good mummer, I’ll give that to you.”

“Thank you,” he snorts. “And you can sit. Don’t look at me like I will _really_ do it.”

“As if,” she laughs, “I’d kill you if I didn’t want you to.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Just don’t kill Snow or we’re out of the only viable candidate for leadership around here.”

“I thought I might, when he left,” she says, her voice suddenly turned somber. “Then he showed up in the cells and I knew I couldn’t.”

“Well, he about said something about wishing he was _dead_ when we were waiting for your friends to attack us. And he meant it. Just don’t be too hard on him, I guess.”

“And how it is that you _care_ so much?” She asks, grinning. Hells, why isn’t Jon here already? He’d have thought he’d be in a hurry.

“I _don’t_ ,” he protests. “It’s just – oh, hells, never mind it. I grew up with him. I was his father’s hostage. We never – we never liked each other much, I guess because of the same reasons. But I was friends with his brother, and I hurt him in ways I deeply regret, so what if I might want to make up for it?”

“By being nice to _Jon_? Your kneelers are weird. But – _same reasons_?”

He shrugs. “I was there because I was a _hostage_. If my father went to war again, Jon – and Robb’s – father would have had to kill me.”

“… You kneelers are one bunch o’ madmen.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “So, no one really – was close to me. Except Robb. Because if I was supposed to _die_ – you see, right?”

“I see, even if I don’t understand. But do go on, Theon Greyjoy.”

“Well, Jon was Lord Stark’s _bastard_ son and Lady Stark didn’t look too kindly on him. So I thought he had it better than me because other than her and one of his sisters everyone loved him, he thought _I_ had it better because I wasn’t a bastard.”

“Maybe since you’re here, before he arrives you can just explain me what is with you kneelers’s obsession with _bastards_. There are no _bastards_ where I come from.”

“Because you have no marriages?”

“Not in the way you mean, I s’ppose, but no one _cares_. So what if your child is born out o’ wedlock?”

“It means you betrayed your wife and the vows you swore when you married her. Admittedly, a lot of lords care naught for it, but Lord Stark – he was a _very_ much honorable person. Which was why everyone always wondered how he would father a child out of wedlock. Also – well, since they’re born out of sacred vows, a lot of people think that bastards are inherently… bad people. And that they are out to steal their legitimate siblings’ properties and such.”

Ygritte’s mouth curls into a fairly _amused_ smile. “And you’re sayin’ that people thought _Jon_ would do that?”

“Lady Stark thought he might, or that his children might, and I suppose it’s no mystery he came _here_ after all. Anyhow, he just – he wanted to be worthy of his father’s name, I guess. I can understand that, at least. But since he had to _earn_ it, well, he might be a trifle _too_ worried about it.”

“… So _that_ was why it took him days to bed me,” she concludes, and if Theon had been drinking, he’d have definitely spat water all over his chest.

“ _What_?”

“I’m understanding a _lot_ o’ things, Theon Greyjoy. I should probably thank you for that,” she muses, and Theon doesn’t even know if he wants to ask any further when finally he hears a knock on the door.

He goes to open it and it’s Jon, who looks _fairly_ perplexed. “Theon, _what in the –_ ”

“You took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Theon hisses. “Come in already, Snow, if anyone sees you this entire ruse is for nothing.”

Jon does come in, and then he freezes the moment he sees Ygritte sitting on the bed, and in turn she’s looking at him, with a smile that shows her teeth and a certain look to her eyes that Theon thinks is _almost_ sweet. _Almost_.

“What –”

“You two should talk and people need to think you _aren’t_ fucking, so I’m paying you a favor. If you want to ask how I know that you need to talk, it’s written on your damned face. Now, you have until the next voting is done, but just be damned quiet. Until it starts, _she_ is free to not be, since people need to think _I_ am fucking her. Clear?”

“And where would _you_ be going now?”

“Pyp has generously agreed to host me until it’s time to vote. Do whatever you have to.” He lingers a moment to find quill and paper and bring it with him, enough to catch a _grateful_ look Jon sends his way, and then he heads for Pyp’s room.

That was _enough_ , damn it.

“So,” Pyp asks after Theon gets there, “are they –”

“Yes. Just, do you mind if I write a letter back to Robb since I’m here?”

“Please. I will be in the yard complaining that you and the wildling girl are being too loud.”

He’s gone a moment later, and Theon sits at his desk, trying to _not_ think of what’s going on above.

Then he writes the damned answer.

 

 _Robb_ ,

 

_You might imagine how relieved I was to receive your raven. And while I think that I will stay here for now if only because it’s better than I had imagined to be, of course I am beyond grateful that you wouldn’t have my head if I left. It’s more than I ever deserved. And if what I told you helped you find out that they were planning an attempt on your life, I am only overjoyed to hear it. I did you a great wrong, it would be the least I could do to make up for it. I will be here, if you ever want to visit._

 

_Theon_

 

He folds the raven carefully, pocketing it. He waits until it’s time to head for the mess hall – he’ll give it to Sam then.

He just hopes that those two are _talking_ , and whatever else.

For now, he has another entire evening filled with counting tokens.

\--

At the end of it, it’s still a tie, except that Slynt is _slightly_ gaining ground.

“Do I tell Edd to do it at the next voting tomorrow?” Sam asks quietly, as they finish writing down their tally.

“Yes,” Theon agrees. “We don’t have too much time left and I don’t think postponing it further will help much more.”

“Gods, I just hope it works. Mallister and Pyke _did_ agree to withdraw for a better candidate that wasn’t the other one, at least.”

“Well, hopefully everyone thinks that Jon’s woman is actually _mine_ for the moment, so we should be set. As much as we can be.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

Theon nods and heads for his room – he doesn’t even know what to expect, but he just hopes Ygritte won’t start being picky about sharing with him, since it _has_ to happen.

He doesn’t know if he expects Jon to be there.

He opens the door and finds out that he actually _is_ there still – his furs are carefully folded over the only other chair in the room and while the room _does_ faintly smell like sex, both of them obviously washed and put their clothes back on, though not all of them – both Ygritte and Jon’s boots are in the corner of the room.

He also can’t help noticing that Jon looks _way_ less miserable than he did when he came in.

“Well, I see that you talked,” Theon grins, not hiding how tired he sounds.

“We might’ve,” Ygritte grins. “Though I have a feeling _you_ two should also _talk_ ,” she adds.

“What?” Theon blurts.

“She does have a point,” Jon adds, his voice way lower than his usual, and he never spoke loudly in the first place. “Maybe tomorrow, but – thank you.”

“No need for that,” Theon cuts him, “really.” He’s _not_ going to ask what they actually talked about.

“Actually, there might be,” Ygritte grins.

“What?”

“Need to _thank_ you, Theon Greyjoy.”

“No need to say my name every time.”

“Y’re avoiding this conversation,” she grins. “And I was serious, before.”

“… _How_ are you serious?”

“Well, at this point _he_ should leave,” she says nodding towards Jon, who’s saying nothing but staring up at him. “And _you_ and I should share the bed, shouldn’t we?”

“I suppose,” Theon replies. “Did you have a better idea?”

She grins _wider._ “Maybe _he_ ,” she nods towards Jon again, “should stay, and _you_ should join us for tonight at least.”

For a long moment, Theon thinks he has heard wrong. “ _What_?” He blurts. “I – did I understand right?”

Jon’s cheeks flush slightly redder. Oh, _Hells_. “You did,” he deadpans. “And we _did_ talk about that, too.”

“But _why_?” He asks. “Honestly, _why_? If you talked about it then _you_ agreed and –”

Ygritte _laughs_. “Theon Greyjoy, you _really_ know nothing. I’d be dead if it wasn’t f’r you and you did an admirable job of helping the two of us out even if you didn’t have to and no one forced you to, and Jon here swears that you two didn’t even _like_ each other. And truth t’be told, I _did_ like how you kissed me before, some. As far as _he_ is concerned, _tell him_. I’m not.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Jon hisses, standing up. “Theon, for – she’s right. I don’t even know how much I owe you by now, and whatever you did in Winterfell – if Robb’s forgiven you then I have no reasons to hate you for it. Never mind that after reading a raven he wrote me it seems like _he_ has to thank you, because he’d be dead if you hadn’t warned him without even knowing what it was about. Maybe – maybe we did dislike each other for very stupid reasons, back in Winterfell. And – I _did_ need to talk to her outside the cells. _She_ likes you. I don’t – I don’t think I can say I dislike you anymore. If I think about how we were in Winterfell, it just sounds ridiculous at this point. We talked about it. And I do want you to join.”

“Snow, for – if this is a _thank you_ offer, I don’t need –”

“I said that _she_ likes you and that _I don’t mind_. I thought I couldn’t understand what Robb saw in you but now I might, some. It’s not pity or anything. She wouldn’t be asking if we hadn’t agreed on it.”

He’s still damn _blushing_ , Theon can’t help noticing.

And – _and_ , this is the last thing he expected.

That said –

They both look like they mean it. He’s never been with a man, true, but he _might_ have found some of them handsome, at some point or the other, though he has never thought about it too closely, if anything because it would have been _shameful_ to, and – Jon is _not_ hard on the eyes, and while they might’ve argued and mostly disliked each other until they found themselves _here_ , he thinks he’s learned to like him, and – the idea of being in the same bed as he is, well, it’s not unappealing.

As far as _she_ is concerned, Theon has no idea if he could have handled such a woman as _his_ woman all the time, if he wasn’t _here_ , but she’s feisty and he _likes_ her and he has a feeling she’s the kind of wench he _would_ like on top of him, and kissing her surely hadn’t felt _wrong_.

All the contrary, actually.

So – so, _why not_?

“What if I accept that offer?” He finally asks, looking at Jon first and Ygritte later.

In the reddish light of the torch, her grin looks _almost_ feral.

“Then I think Jon could give you a taste of what you’d be getting if you do,” she says, slow, leaning back against the wall.

Before he can ask if he understood right what she has just implied, he feels two hands on his belt, resting on his hips, and he’s looking at Jon’s gray eyes that do _not_ remind him of Ned Stark’s now, not at all –

“ _Really_. Then by all means, I accept.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s said _yes_ to.

But then –

“Jon,” she says, “maybe he does deserve a kiss or two, doesn’t he? Maybe the _special_ kind of it.”

Jon says nothing but his mouth curls into a half-smirk that Theon doesn’t think he’s _ever_ seen on him, and then he moves forward and plants a brief but _meaningful_ kiss on his mouth, moving away before Theon can think of reciprocating it, and then _he falls on his knees in front of him, his hands opening his belt_ , and oh, _oh_ , so that was what _she_ meant –

Fact is: he’s never had a man do _this_ to him, but it’s been a damned long time and the moment Jon’s knees hit the ground with a soft sound and his tongue runs around the head of his cock, Theon has to bite back a groan – _fuck_ , he had missed it, and from the way Jon’s doing it tentatively enough he has a clue that Jon hasn’t ever done it with a man either, except that he’s not letting _that_ stop him. He goes slow, his tongue swirling along his length and _damn_ if he’s not getting harder with every passing moment, obviously taking in the situation, and when he moves back enough to take the head in his mouth fully Theon decides can’t help thinking that he’s damn _good_ at it – he’s not using his teeth, and he doesn’t have to tell him not to, and he’s taking him in deeper bit by bit and gods but he kind of wants to reach forward and grab at Jon’s hair but he doesn’t know if he _should_ –

And then Ygritte stands up with that grin still all over her face, and strides over to where they are, and _she_ puts her hands in Jon’s hair while standing right behind him.

If Jon hasn’t gone _way_ more lax against him the moment she did it, Theon is dreaming all of this, and he knows he’s _not_ , if anything because then Jon has half of his cock in his mouth and maybe he’s not going to take him in that much further, but _then_ he starts to suck and his hands on Theon’s hips grip tighter as Ygritte pushes his head _forward_ gently.

Then she kneels down and whispers something in Jon’s ear that Theon can’t hear properly but he was sure there was a _sweet_ somewhere, and then Ygritte’s standing again while her hand is carding through Jon’s hair steadily as he sucks _harder_ , and she’s moving closer to him.

“Let me guess,” Theon groans, low enough that no one else should hear it, “you – you _like to be on top_ , don’t you?” He thinks, trying to _not_ dwell on the fact that the last time he ran into a wench who _did_ like it and that he _had_ wanted to fuck, that wench was his bloody sister.

“Someone’s quick of wit here,” she grins. “I imagine that won’t be a problem, will it?”

He _might_ have tried to jape about it. Except that when someone’s sucking you off and doing it with an amount of skills you wouldn’t guess if you knew they never done that to a man before, japing might be way beyond you.

“No,” he moans, and a moment later her mouth is on his and _fuck_ but if her people say that if she has red hair she’s kissed by fire they have it backwards – she kisses _like_ fire, her tongue working its way into his mouth without warning and her free hand grasping tight at the hair at the back of his head, pushing him up against the wall a bit further, not letting him control it for a moment, and gods she’s shorter than he is but it doesn’t really matter now _doesn’t it_ , and he kisses her back with enough enthusiasm while he also tries to not push _too much_ lest Jon _does_ choke on his cock, which he’d rather avoid right now, but Jon seems to not mind the obvious lack of air. He’s taken a bit more in, and his burned hand has just moved up and wrapped around what of his cock he can’t take into his mouth, and _shit_ but he’s good at it, he’s good at letting his tongue swirl over the right places, and Theon can feel his blood rushing downwards, and he _knows_ he’s going to come soon, he _has_ to, and when Ygritte’s mouth finally leaves his and he can take a breath, two, he _does_ try to warn.

“I’m – I’m close, I think, if –”

“Guess it’s _his_ choice,” Ygritte says, “but he’s never moved away when it was about _me_ ,” she grins, and for a moment Jon stops and Theon _can_ feel him slightly smiling around his dick, as much as the situation allows him, and then he sucks _harder_ and that’s it, he _can’t_ hold on much longer, and he looks down as he spills right inside Jon’s mouth, and _fuck_ but he hadn’t thought that watching _Jon_ out of everyone as he moved back just slightly and _swallowed_ would have turned him on so much –

Except that Ygritte’s also _holding his head up_ very gently, and he can see her hand carding through Jon’s hair as he does it, and it’s – he doesn’t know what’s in this entire situation that’s turning him on more but he should probably stop asking himself that, and he’s not surprised when as Jon’s mouth leaves his cock after Theon came right inside it and he’s swallowed most of it, Ygritte’s hand wraps around his length and gives it a stroke, two, three, until he’s _completely spent_ , and throughout the entire thing Jon _hasn’t_ moved from his current position, which would be _kneeling with Ygritte’s legs just behind his back_.

 _Well then_ , years ago he might have japed about Snow’s plainly obvious preferences in bed the moment he found them out, but right now he doesn’t think he has much of that in him, nor that he could do that without feeling like a hypocrite, not when the prospect of Ygritte maybe giving it some of that treatment as well is making his blood boil all over again.

“Gods,” Theon says, “if that’s how it is, I wouldn’t be against doing it more often.”

“Nice to hear it,” she agrees, “because I think _you_ want to make sure everyone else hears _us_ , right?”

“In theory it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he agrees, his hand moving downwards and covering her hip, “as long as they don’t hear _him_.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. You _can_ do quiet, can’t you?”

Jon, whose forehead is currently resting against Theon’s thigh, just nods without saying a word.

“Good to know,” he says. He tentatively lets his drop from her hip to Jon’s hair, not even knowing what he’s expecting.

Jon actually _presses up_ against his palm. Six months ago, he’d have probably asked something along the lines of _Snow, aren’t you needy_ , but he has a feeling that if he made fun of it Ygritte would find a way to crush his throat without needing a weapon and he doesn’t feel like making fun of anything right now.

“So,” he asks her directly, he _has_ understood who actually runs things in Snow’s bedroom, “did you have a plan?”

“Your bed might be a bit small,” she huffs, “but maybe we can make it work. It’s sturdy, anyhow.”

Fair enough – it’s _stone_ with a mattress over it, he doubts they can break it. “I’m listening,” he grins.

“ _He_ should probably be in a position where there’s no risk he might make noise,” she smiles back. “ _We_ should be in a position where we _would_ make noise.”

“Fair enough.” Jon certainly isn’t opposing the prospect.

She moves slightly closer, her lips right against his ear, her voice dropping, and –

 _And_ , he thinks he _does_ like the prospect. He does like it, a lot.

He doesn’t ask why she hasn’t let Jon hear that – either he doesn’t want to know or he does already, but he figures they did discuss it first, so no point in wasting even more time. She moves back, helping Jon up – he does stumble a bit as he stands, but Theon grabs his arm so she can move forward and get off her clothes as she pulls back the covers (gods, the sheets are halfway _dirty_ , he’ll need to bring them to wash tomorrow) and sits on the bed with her back to the wall, her legs apart enough that he can see her cunt, and while he is absolutely _not_ planning on leaving it alone, for now he follows the plan.

“Well,” he tells Jon as he closes the distance between the two of them and the bed, “she says you should give her some _lord’s kiss_ as well. Care to show me what she meant before?”

“Just because _she_ asked,” Jon shoots back, but he _is_ smirking as he says it, and Theon is _not_ going to stare at how he still has _his_ own come sticking to his chin as he crawls on his stomach and dutifully puts his mouth in between Ygritte’s legs, her hands immediately grasping at his hair again.

A moment later, she _does_ moan.

Hard.

Well then, Theon muses as he kicks off his breeches for good and moves behind Jon on the bed, it seems like Snow _does_ have talent at using his mouth. Who’d have thought.

“Look at that,” Theon smirks, “if only the girls in Winterfell had a clue,” he finishes as he unlaces Jon’s breeches and smallclothes from behind and gets rid of them, throwing them on the floor. “They certainly would’ve noticed you some more.”

“Why,” Ygritte says, sounding intrigued for what it’s worth, “they didn’t?”

“He didn’t put much effort into it,” Theon agrees, his hand palming Jon’s erection, and he whistles. “Gods, Snow, I had no idea sucking me off would get you _this_ interested.”

Jon _does_ take a moment to lift his head and look at him. “How about you _don’t_ , Greyjoy?”

“Sweet, didn’t we say you _weren’t_ going to make noise?” Ygritte interrupts him, and Theon can literally feel Jon’s shoulders relax at that, and wait, _how did she call him_ – well, all right, he can see why _Jon_ would like that. If anything, he goes back to licking her cunt without even trying to find a retort, with enough enthusiasm that she moans again, loud enough that if the others didn’t hear her before, they certainly did _now_.

“Just make sure he earns it,” Ygritte grins before sighing in delight. “And you can come up here for a moment before you do it.”

“As _my lady_ wishes,” he grins, and moves over Jon after wiping his hand on the sheets, leaning down and kissing her as his hands find her breasts and knead – they’re smaller than he’s adjusted to and he usually prefers them fuller and larger, but given that he had been planning to take vows implying that he _wouldn’t_ be with a woman again, period, he’s not going to complain. He feels her nipples harden against his fingertips as one of her hands grabs hard at the back of his neck and he grins as he leans down and runs his tongue around one nipple first and then the other before he leans back for good just in case they’re cutting off Jon’s air entirely. They’re not, and he’s still bent on his task, except that his cheeks are flushed, a shade of dark pink he can’t ever remember seeing on him, and as Ygritte nods at him, he leans back and moves behind Jon without pinning him down _completely_ and then wraps a hand around his dick, and _damn_ but he did get harder meanwhile. The sheet is completely damp under Jon’s groin and maybe Theon shouldn’t be feeling excited at what he’s about to do, but – she _did_ tell him to, so he figures Jon’s not going to hate him for it.

He’s smirking openly as he lowers his fingers and squeezes around the head – he’s done that to _himself_ enough times to delay peaking and it _does_ usually work, and he’s not surprised when Jon’s head stops moving in between Ygritte’s legs and he groans in frustration, slightly, and he can feel the muscles around Jon’s groin getting slightly less tense and he’s still hard but not on the brink of coming as he was before.

“If only you had said back in Winterfell,” he grins, as he starts giving Jon slow strokes, _very_ slow, “I could have given you a bit of advice.”

“I don’t think you’re being loud enough,” Ygritte breathes, her thumb brushing over Jon’s forehead as she parts her legs wider.

“Right, right,” Theon smiles back, wishing he had an oil lamp here. He doesn’t, and if tomorrow they want Jon to actually look the part when they put forward his name he _should_ be able to walk, and he’s _not_ going to try and take him from behind with just spit, he’s never done it with another man but he does have an idea of how it works and it wouldn’t be ideal. _Still_ , he can make do, and so lines himself up with Jon’s back, rubbing his own cock against his ass, which _is_ still pleasant enough, and he doesn’t try to _not_ moan at how good it feels to actually have friction, this while Jon’s leaking all over his hand.

“Gods, Snow, I think you’re wetter than she is. Or should I see for myself?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she agrees. “I’d like to know myself.”

Theon moves away, not before having moved his damp hand downwards to squeeze at the tip of Jon’s cock _again_ , and gets off him to move at the side of the bed, balancing himself carefully lest he falls down.

“Sweet, let him see how good you are to me, won’t you?” Ygritte asks, and gods but she sounds so much _gentler_ when she’s talking to Jon directly, Theon can understand why he was this pained at leaving her behind. Not that he’s had any women who talked to him like _that_ , but he doubts Jon’s had many who were _that_ gentle to him, period.

He stops at once, dutifully moving back, and when Theon slips two fingers of his clean hand inside her, he whistles – she’s so wet there’s no resistance to be had, and she almost screams when he prods them inside and _pushes_. Given that he’s fairly sure that she’s peaked once already, Snow is probably really damn good if she’s ready to go again.

Still –

“You win, but just slightly,” he grins. “He _is_ pretty much as wet as you are.”

“And he hasn’t come yet?”

“No,” Theon moves back behind Jon, his hand finding his cock again, and he’s so hard, he’s sure he _will_ come if he moves his hand just right.

Or, he could delay it, _again_.

“Should I?” He asks.

She sends him a delighted look in response. “Do it,” she says, “he’s earned better than _that_.”

He _does_ , and he doesn’t know how Jon manages to barely make a sound – he’s so strung up now, he’s almost shaking against him.

“I guess _you_ should be on top,” he admits then, and he doesn’t know how they manage to change positions on the bed so that he’s with his back against the wall and Jon’s ass pressed against his crotch while Ygritte’s kneeling on top of the both of them without falling off that poor excuse of a bed, but they _do_ , and he’s quick to crash his mouth against Jon’s as she sinks down on him because otherwise Jon _would_ have screamed, most likely, and this while his cock is finding friction even if he and Jon are _not_ technically fucking. Ygritte is doing nothing to stay silent, and then he thinks, _why the hell not_ , and lets Jon look up at her again while slipping a couple fingers inside his mouth so that he doesn’t risk making noise.

 _Now_ Theon can finally follow Ygritte in that sense, and he doesn’t have to put any effort into it, not when Jon’s skin is warm against his and just looking at Ygritte’s hips slamming downwards as she rides Jon is enough to get him even harder, but it’s not an arrangement that can last long, especially when Jon was about to spill before, and Ygritte doesn’t move as he goes rigid – Theon moves his fingers away so she can lean down and kiss him full just as he comes inside her, and the moment he lets go Theon can _feel_ his pent-up tension release at once and it’s too much – he comes as well, not _inside_ Jon but that’s no matter, and it’s not as hard as before but it doesn’t matter because it’s _good_ and given that Jon looks like he’s going to faint, he’s fairly sure he’s also enjoying it as his mouth stays locked with Ygritte’s and Theon can hear all the little moans she’s swallowing.

They’re also _all_ filthy, he realizes not long later as all three of them are catching their breath, not moving lest one of them crashes to the ground, Ygritte’s hand stroking Jon’s cheek as he nuzzles into it, but then again one of Jon’s hands has just gripped his and Theon doesn’t know what in the seven hells it’s going on here, but he’s not moving for now.

He’s _definitely_ not.

\--

When all three of them have more or less regained their wits, they decide that he’s going with Ygritte to the baths again so if anyone has _any_ doubt left about _who_ shared a bed that night they won’t anymore, and they’ll bring back up towels and find some water so Jon can wash in his room and no one gets suspicious. Jon agrees and says that he’s just going to sleep it off and he’s fine if they bring the sheets with, the furs will be enough.

“Well,” she tells him as they leave the sheets to wash and head for the two nearest tubs, “that was _fun_ , Theon Greyjoy.”

“Why,” he grins, “you’re thinking about doing it again?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re plannin’ on doin’ after tomorrow or what _he_ ’s planning, but if I still have to pretend that _you_ stole me for the same reasons, it would be just a pity if we didn’t show you how much we appreciate your sacrifice, wouldn’t it?”

He doesn’t ask her if she’s just asked him to _join them_ on a regular basis because she was clear enough.

“Well,” he says, “until I take those vows, I think I would be delighted to have some more _fun_ with you. After all, _I_ haven’t had much to do with your cunt yet and I wouldn’t say no to it.”

“Y’re a true charmer,” she snorts. “But that’s fair. Next time no one will keep you.”

Gods. He doesn’t even know what he’s signed up for, but it certainly is a better prospect than what he had thought when he rode up here, _that_ is for sure.

\--

When they’re clean, he finds them another change of clothes – gods, he just hopes no one noticed that he took _three_ at this point – and they go back upstairs bringing a washbowl full of water and a few towels. He leaves her to wake Jon up and clean him off while he goes to find some new sheets, and it’s the middle of the night when the bed is finally remade and Jon has put on his clothes, again, and is standing on the door.

“I – thank you,” he tells Theon again, and before Theon can answer, he’s gone down the hall.

He could run after him.

It’s probably not worth it, he decides as he turns back towards Ygritte.

“Well, if you want to get some sleep in a proper damned bed, we can share. Don’t worry, I’m not touching if he’s not around to make sure of it.”

“How _polite_ of you, again,” she says, and turns her head towards the wall as she slips under the covers.

Fair enough.

It won’t count as the first time he’s shared a bed with a woman without fucking her, anyway.

\--

The next day, he slips out of the bed at dawn – he has to go find Sam, but he has another problem to deal with first.

He wakes her up. “In a while, find Jon and tell him to get his ass to the elections before you go back to the cells. If everything goes right, you won’t have to stay there for long.”

“Fair,” she yawns. “Will mid-morning do?”

“It will,” he says, and leaves the room.

Then he goes to find Stannis Baratheon.

“Your Grace,” he says. Stannis doesn’t look like he has slept any tonight, or not much, anyway.

“My lord. I suppose you thought about my offer.”

“I have,” Theon says, “and I am sorry to say, but I have to refuse.”

“… Refuse?” Stannis does look _very_ surprised at it. “Aren’t you _here_ because –”

“Yes,” Theon says, “and that’s why I cannot accept your otherwise very kind offer. I wanted that throne and I failed, and I’m sorry to say, but while people _do_ seem to respect me around here, my men did _not_. If you put me on that throne, I would last as long as you were around to keep me on it, and I would _never_ gain their trust. Not when they didn’t want me in the first place and I would be there because someone else decided it. If you want their alliance, I would suggest you talk to my sister and help _her_ instead. You will have better luck than if you support _me_ , Your Grace.”

“That’s your definitive answer, Greyjoy?”

“It is, Your Grace.”

Stannis grits his teeth, but then nods once, looking like he’s satisfied with his answer.

“It was not the answer I was expecting,” he admits, “but it was a true one, and it shows you aren’t as much of a fool as everyone in Winterfell would swear. Very well, I will keep that advice in mind. You can go to your precious elections, and see that someone is elected soon.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. And – well, I have a good feeling about today’s outcome.”

“You’d better be right,” Stannis huffs, and Theon leaves at once, running for the mess hall where Sam and Maester Aemon are preparing the tokens.

“My apologies,” he says, “I had business to attend with the king.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam says, “there wasn’t much to be done. I think we’re ready.”

Theon nods and moves back towards the doors, opening them so the others can start coming in. He thinks he can hear some raven croaking nearby, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where it comes, and so he stops thinking about it and goes back to handing out tokens. When Dolorus Edd takes his from him, they nod at each other – good – and then he moves to the next one.

When Edd _does_ put Jon’s name forward, Theon has to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from smirking openly, and when Jon actually walks inside the room with his wolf – gods, he must have found his way back, and _how big did he get anyway_? – he _does_ almost laugh at the completely baffled face Jon pulls the moment they inform him of that specific development. He also wishes he could punch Slynt in the face when he shouts that they couldn’t put forward a name belonging to a _warg_ who slew the Halfhand, but he’s making such a spectacle of himself, against Jon’s utter calm the moment he hears the news, that Theon doesn’t think there is the need to make people notice any further, he’s doing the entire job on his own.

Then, Yarwick cedes for _Jon_ , rather than for Slynt, which certainly can’t hurt.

And then again, when not long later most of the damned tokens turn out to be _Jon’s_ and that raven (later, he learns that it belonged to the late Lord Commander Mormont) bursts out of the kettle croaking _Snow_ , he can’t help noticing that Jon looks floored in surprise, as if he hadn’t imagined it might happen _at all_ , and after everyone but Pyp, Grenn, Edd, Sam and himself has left and he’s been given a cloak, he looks like he might faint.

“Sam, damn it,” Pyp blurts, “when did you hide the raven in the kettle and how in seven hells could you be certain it would go over to Jon? If it went to Slynt –”

“I didn’t do _that,_ ” Sam says, “I swear I almost wet myself when it flew out of that kettle.”

“You’re all a bunch of mad fools, do you know that?” Jon asks, still looking floored.

“Jon, _we_ didn’t get the job and we are certainly not fools,” Pyp laughs. “I think we should go get you some wine. You’ll need it.” He drags Grenn and Edd away and Sam also follows them. Theon is the only one left, and at that point Jon’s eyes focus on him anew.

“Did you _know_ yesterday?” Jon asks Theon as Ghost comes up to his side. Theon reaches down to pet him, warily, but Ghost _lets him_ , and – he’s not going to think of how Grey Wind never once growled at _him_ now.

“I might have,” Theon grins. “And I will _never_ say it again in my entire life, but I think you earned it.”

Jon just _stares_ at him. Then –

“If Robb could see us now, he’d be laughing until he cried, wouldn’t he?”

… He’s right.

“He _would_ ,” Theon confirms. “He tries to have us get along for years, and then it happens _here_. Well, hopefully he _will_ show up and have a laugh at our expenses.”

“Hopefully,” Jon agrees, almost drowning in that pitch-black cloak.

Theon _had_ imagined rising up as far as wearing it.

But all things considered, he thinks he can deal with this turn of events.

\--

No one is surprised when three days later, after Slynt’s head has rolled for the peace of everyone in the castle except for Thorne _and_ the cloaks who came from King’s Landing, Jon has made deals with Stannis concerning the wildlings and brokered a deal so they can actually walk past the Wall, and has decided to send most of the spearwives to Long Barrow. But _no one_ is saying that he has _personal interests_ in the matter, not when Theon has put enough of a mummer’s show by dragging Ygritte around and kissing her in public in most places he could get away with and when she started sleeping in his room after Jon decided to free the prisoners as an act of truce, since he still cannot find a way to save _also_ their king’s life – for now –, no one had anything to say.

He’s not _too_ surprised when Jon summons him four days after the election.

“I was thinking,” he tells him, his cheeks slightly flushing, and his hands grasping the table hard enough his knuckles are white.

“Snow, whatever it is, there is _no_ need to look that tense over it.”

Jon _does_ relax a bit at that, and looks at him straight. Then –

“I have a few matters I would like to discuss with you. First of all, most of the new recruits will be taking their vows in a few days.”

“I suppose I should join them,” Theon says carefully.

“You _should_ ,” Jon says. He does sound slightly pained, though.

“Wait,” Theon sighs, “if I do, Ygritte _has_ to go to Long Barrow, doesn’t she?”

“She could anyways, and it would be better, but – she _did_ like that arrangement. And – I wasn’t against it.”

 _Wait_ –

“Never mind that. Do you _want_ to take those vows? Robb wrote me, too, and he said that he wouldn’t ask for your head at any point from now on. You don’t _have_ to, if you don’t want to.”

Theon _has_ thought about it.

He _has_.

And –

“Jon, Stannis wanted to give me back _my_ supposed throne, but it would have been a very bad notion. And if I left and went back to Winterfell – _Robb_ might have forgiven me for what it’s worth, but his men wouldn’t, and what I did there – I don’t know if I can face anyone there. Not for a long time.”

 _Especially not your brothers_.

“I ruined my chances there, and I ruined my chances in the Iron Islands. And as much as I would have never expected it, I – I haven’t here. I _do_ have a purpose. I – I think I fit here, for what it’s worth, and I cannot say that maybe one day I wouldn’t want to leave, but right now I _don’t_ , so I would rather stay. So, I want to. If it means I have to take those vows, I’m taking them. And I mean it.”

“I can hear it,” Jon says, his face carefully blank. But then he grins, _slightly_. “Which means I _can_ trust you with a few things, maybe.”

“… As in?” Theon asks carefully, trying to _not_ think about what happened five days ago. Sure as the seven hells whatever Jon likes behind closed doors is _not_ transpiring here.

“I might need an envoy to Winterfell in the future. I might also need an envoy _in general_ , and I’d need someone with an education for it, and I also might need a new master at arms because I am _not_ letting Thorne ruin another generation of recruits around the place. And if people know that no one wants your head anymore but you _choose_ to stay here regardless, it would certainly not hurt your reputation.”

 _Is he saying that_ –

“Snow, are you saying that I should do all of those things _without_ taking the vows and making it look as if I am staying here to be useful without any other secondary reason, which at the same time would _boost_ my reputation _and_ would allow our little arrangement to still exist?”

“… I have to take it back at least _some_ of the times I told Robb you were a fool, I suppose. Yes, that was what I had in mind. What do you say?”

Theon grins. “Why, Snow, that’s not _entirely_ honorable of you. Are you learning that sometimes honor at all costs is not the right answer?”

Jon shrugs, looking a bit sheepish. “I don’t know,” he says, “and I am aware I am already breaching the rules, but – after I rode with _them_ , I learned how hard it is to be _that_ much of an honorable person, and the few times it hasn’t ended up hurting me were the ones I bent the rules. And – I am not my father, as much as I wish I could be. That said, I _can_ lie, if I want to.”

Theon laughs, because what else could he do, and then he moves closer, putting his hands on the desk.

“And who am I to _not_ support someone’s endeavors when they _don’t_ want to be entirely honorable? I will keep our arrangement and I won’t take the vows for now, but just so you know, I _will_ , if it starts becoming a problem.”

“Good to know,” Jon replies, and there’s something relieved in the way he’s looking at him. “You know,” he says, “if someone had told me two years ago that I’d have been glad to see you here, I’d have thought they were mad.”

“Why, changed your mind?”

“Don’t push your luck, Greyjoy. But yes, I am. And go to the yard, half of the people in here can’t shoot a bow worth a damn and you saw it.”

“Of course, my lord. _Immediately_ , my lord. And would getting help from our possible future allies be allowed? And can I tell Thorne to go fuck himself?”

“Do whatever you think you should, just send Thorne up here. And get lost,” Jon laughs, and Theon laughs back as he does and closes the door behind him.

Well, Jon _was_ right. Most of the people around here can’t shoot a bow worth a damn. Except –

He goes to find Ygritte as he heads for the yard – she’s with the other wildling prisoners, watching Thorne as he obviously works out some of his frustration on a few poor kids. “ _Jon_ says I have to teach the younglings how to shoot an arrow. You had a bow during the battle, didn’t you?”

She nods. “I am pretty good with one. Why?”

He grins. “Find one and come with. I’m sure two of us will be a more effective combination. By the way, he said I could do _whatever I wanted_ before I sent Thorne to talk to him upstairs.”

“I’m coming,” she grins immediately.

Well, if this is how things are shaping up to be –

War looming on the horizon or not, he’s glad he ended up _here_.

He really is.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**Epilogue**

 

“This might not be ideal, but let me tell you, you look better than I had imagined you would,” Robb says, his mouth curled in a barely-there smile, and Theon doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“And you look like you aged five years, not one,” he quips back, because anything else he might say would sound – empty, or useless, _now_ , and it’s true, for that matter. Robb is taller – almost as _he_ is now – and broader, and his beard makes him look way older than his barely seven and ten years. He has longer hair and a scar on his face hidden by the beard, and his eyes are _still_ impossibly young, though. Grey Wind is at his side and he’s not eating Theon at once – good thing that, and a moment later he hears Ghost, not far from here, and runs off to him.

“That’s not untrue,” Robb agrees. “But – Theon, I did mean what I said in that letter. And – I talked to Jon before. I know you have been pulling your weight even if you didn’t even take the vows yet.”

He shrugs. “I – when I arrived here, I realized that the place was in dire need of people _pulling their weight_. And – well, I don’t know if I want to take the vows or not just because if my head would still stay where it is should I choose to leave after the war I want to have that choice, but for now I would rather stay.”

“I can see that there’s the need. I’m here, after all.”

That’s true – it’s been three months since Stannis negotiated an alliance with Robb that would mean for Robb to renounce his crown the moment the war is over and the wights are defeated, and so he’s come back North with half of his army. Stannis has taken the other half along with half of his men and he’s marching on King’s Landing again, and this time he _should_ take it, from what it looks like. Catelyn Stark is back in Winterfell with her younger sons, Arya Stark was brought there by the Hound just after or so Jon told him (it was in a few letters Robb wrote him before he came here himself), Robb’s wife is apparently with child and also stayed back there, and so now here they are.

“I’m glad you are,” Theon tells him, and he means it entirely even if it _hurts_ to look at him and be reminded of everything he gave up for nothing. “And – I did tell you in those letters. But it stands that I should say it to your face. I should have never betrayed you. I – I did try, not enough, maybe, and then I took Winterfell because I thought it would make my father happy, and it didn’t even do _that_. If I had known in advance, I’d have never done it. But – I was a fool. If what I dreamed saved your life later, it was only evening the odds. For what it’s worth, I will never stop regretting it.”

Robb smiles. It’s a _sad_ smile, but one nonetheless. “Well, did I come immediately when I learned you took Winterfell?”

“No,” Theon admits. “Why, actually? You should have.”

“I thought you wouldn’t hurt my brothers, and while you _did_ try to make everyone else believe it, I was just glad to see I was right. And – I thought that whatever was the reason, it must – there _must_ have been one, and that I could – I don’t know what I was thinking, but it still was not my first priority. It should say everything about where I stood at that point.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” Theon says immediately. He _didn’t_. He knows he didn’t.

“Maybe,” Robb concedes, “but I grew up with you. I would have hated to be wrong. Regardless, you did pay for that or you are paying for that, I suppose, you _didn’t_ kill my brothers and you did save my life, whether it was evening the odds or not. Admittedly, most people in Winterfell think that this is where you should stay, but – I did talk to Jon first thing.” He smiles, slightly wider.

“And what did he say?” _Hopefully it didn’t inform you of what went down in my room three days ago, or that his woman shares my bed even if we don’t do anything if he’s not there, too, and I don’t even know what it is that we are doing but no one has found out and even if they did, Jon is doing good enough that no one would consider questioning it._

“That you have been _invaluable_ ,” Robb smirks, “and that you two _did_ actually warm up to each other. Of course, you did it the moment _I_ wasn’t there to witness it, but never mind that. And I tend to trust his judgment, and I will be here for the foreseeable future. What I mean to say here is that – I don’t want us to be enemies and I don’t want us to pretend we are… civil, I suppose.”

“Robb, are you saying –”

“I am saying that if you want us to be friends again, I am willing to try as long as I am here, and whenever you feel like going to Winterfell and maybe apologizing to everyone else, too, I won’t say no. _That_ is what I am saying. What about you?”

His first instinct is to reply, _I don’t deserve it_.

But then again, it should be up to Robb, shouldn’t it?

“I couldn’t – ask for anything more, really,” he blurts, not even trying to stop his voice from cracking.

“Then what are you doing still _there_?” Robb grins, tentatively, shrugging as his arms fall open.

Good thing that they found a secluded place to have this talk, because people _would_ ask questions if they saw them reaching for each other tentatively first but a lot more firmly after Robb’s hands touch his shoulders and Theon’s arms wrap around his waist, his black cloak tangling with Robb’s grey one, and gods but Robb is warm and alive and he’s not bleeding the way he did in that damned dream –

And Theon has no clue if they’ll survive the next few months or the Long Night if it’s really coming, but if when he came here he hadn’t even known what to expect now he knows he _wants_ to live while he still has friends, a life, Robb’s forgiveness and a place he thinks he _can_ call home whether he takes the vows or not.

It’s enough, now. It really is.

 

 

End.


End file.
